


Killing in the Name

by always_gold



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Angst with a Happy Ending, Baz is a vampire, Baz is tired as hell, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Gay Panic, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Penny is only mentioned, Sexual Tension, Simon hunts mythical creatures, Simon is a bad liar, Simon is basically an assassin, Simon ran away from his feelings but they are still there after years, so are other mythical creatures- just no mages, the mage is a dick, they are in love, vampires are still real lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28963974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/always_gold/pseuds/always_gold
Summary: Simon waited for a few moments, fixing his face into a friendly smile. The intricately carved mahogany door swung open, making Simon's smile and stomach drop simultaneously. In front of him stood Basilton Grimm-Pitch, his roommate of 8 years from Watford Boarding School. The boy that he hated and then quickly didn't hate."Snow?"-Or;Simon and Baz grew up together at Watford Boarding School, roommates, enemies, and then (almost) friends. But, after they graduated, the Mage went crazy, disappearing off the face of the earth, and taking Simon with him.3 years later Simon shows up, seemingly working for animal control. Little does Baz know, Simon is hunting him.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	1. You're Gonna Go Far Kid

Driving an hour to a small town in New Forest was so painlessly easy, Simon felt as if he was cheating the job. Normally he was sent to jobs all over the UK and Ireland, sometimes travelling as far as France, the Netherlands or Norway. Driving for hours on end was such a regular task that Simon was no longer annoyed by it.

Although he was used to the long weeks away from home base, Simon was relieved to get a job only an hours drive away. The scenery was familiar. Simon had always enjoyed familiarity; routine kept his head screwed on straight. There were fewer distractions when the roads looked the same. Maybe that was why he was so good at his job- each case was the same, and the procedure never changed. Find the monster, collect proof, kill it. Save the mortals one werewolf at a time. Don't think. Don't ask. Just do what you're told.

Simon was better when he didn't have to think. Stick to the mission, and then be assigned a new one. The routine of his life.

He loved New Forest, Hampshire. It was the home of his old boarding school, Watford. His best years were at that school. The trees were broad here and loomed on either side of the long country road. Every other kilometre you were graced with a farm- whether it was horses, cows, sheep, or goats- your nose was violated with the smell of fertilizer.

He was used to this. He loved this- but he had no time to think about grazing sheep. He had a job to do. The Mage (or more informally, his foster father) had sent Simon this way with the indication of a vampire. There were barely any signs, hardly enough for a regular assassin to track, but Simon wasn't a regular assassin. Not only was he one of the best in the organization, but he was also the only one that worked alone. Simon was better alone, and the organization always trusted him to do what had to be done. He didn't need anyone trailing him or getting in his way.

This vampire was discreet- only the Mage could have spotted the clues. There were calls to Animal Control complaining about dead animals being found around the small town, ranging from birds to household cats. Normally such a thing wasn't a problem, seeing as birds died all of the time, but these killings were grisly. The animals' necks were nearly always snapped, their throats torn open exposing bone, muscle and cartilage, and they were always drained of blood. Simon assumed a child finding their cat with its trachea on display would have been pretty scarring.

Besides the small creatures, there were calls every once in a while complaining about farm animals gone missing. It was rare, but it happened. A sheep or two missing from the pasture at the entrance of the town, a cow that was later found drained in a creek.

The locals didn't care much, just assuming there was a pack of coyotes, but Simon knew better.

He arrived at the town sign, passing one of the large sheep pastures that the Mage told him about. They had lost a sheep a week ago.

He drove slowly to the main road in town. It was a sleepy town, tightly knit and made of old yellow cobblestone. Besides the two main streets, there were only forests and scattered neighbourhoods. Simon had the windows of his old car rolled down, rare sunlight streaming through. In this part of England, the weather was typically made up of overcast skies and rain, even in the middle of summer. It had been raining on his drive down, but the skies eventually cleared up, leaving the smell of wet pavement, dewy grass, and mud. He idled by a small grocery store, a cafe only opened from 7 am till 1 pm and several drooping houses. The main road was just as sad- an inn crowded by a sports pub and a sweets shop and opposing a tourist shop, a library and a florist. It was modest and Simon loved it.

After circling the tiny town, Simon determined that the old inn he saw on Main Street was the only one around. Disappointed, but not surprised, he pulled into the small parking lot behind the three buildings that held only 2 other cars. He grabbed his small rucksack full of clothes and weapons and checked into the inn. The building was ageing poorly, sagging like it could cave in any moment. It only had 6 rooms on its two floors.  
Simon's room was cramped, with a lumpy bed, old wooden bedside table and a wardrobe that smelt of dust and mothballs. He sighed in resentment and shoved his bag under the bed. There was no point in lounging around when there was a mission to complete.

-

It wasn't hard to pinpoint the area that the vampire resided. The east point of the town had the majority of corpse sightings. In the span of an hour he had talked to several families in the area, and every story seemed to be the same: Over the past 3 years there had been an influx of dead animals found around town- all drained, all mangled, all had their throats ripped. Typical vampire kills. Posing as animal control was a good cover for the job considering this vampire didn't seem to have a taste for humans... at least yet.

Simon hated hunting vampires. They were difficult and disgustingly annoying. Not only did they leave a trail of corpses, but most of the vampires Simon had taken down were snarky, sarcastic, and narcissistic. They loved themselves. They all seemed to have a superiority complex and it bugged Simon to his wit's end. Anything that could rip apart a family cat without remorse was a monster. What did the cat ever do wrong?

After speaking to several people in the neighbourhood, all clues seemed to point to the farthest end of town, which everyone referred to as the Pitch Estate. Their property was vast and completed with a dense forest. If a pack of out of control coyotes lived anywhere, it would be there. Simon took note of this and decided he wouldn't need his car. It was only a ten-minute walk from the area he was interviewing, and the first day was always his day for collecting evidence.

He trekked down the darkened road surrounded by forest until he was met with a posh iron gate. He rolled his eyes. This manor was probably owned by a rich snotty family, not caring about the humble town in the slightest.

By the time he made it to the door, Simon wished he had brought his car. The drive was just as long of a walk as it was from the neighbourhood, except twice as muddy. When he made it to the manor his boots and rim of his cargo pants were speckled with mud and dirt, making him look more like a construction worker than a man who killed rabid animals. Plus, the drive was entirely uphill. If Simon hadn't been in shape from chasing after monsters, he would've been out of breath with a stitch in his side.

The manor itself was huge. It must have been made in the Victorian era, completed with 4 stories (excluding the cellar), pointed roofs, balconies with iron railings and large circular windows on the top floor. Even though it was midday- probably only 2 o'clock- every window was covered in thick, velvet, maroon curtains, and all that was visible from the inside was a soft warm glow. Simon could smell scones baking but ignored the intriguing scent. The manor looked exactly like the residence of a stereotypical vampire. Victorian, aged, elaborate, and over the top. Simon sighed in distaste and fixed a glare on the polished metal door knocker. It looked like some sort of Egyptian relic, the face of a pharaoh or something similar. Simon tested the weight and found it heavy- possibly 5 pounds. He rolled his eyes, hoping the owner of the house was the vampire so that he could feel better about himself.  
He set the knocker down silently and rapped on the door with his knuckles just to spite them. Knockers were stupid.

Simon waited for a few moments, fixing his face into a friendly smile. The intricate, dark mahogany door swung open, making Simons smile and stomach drop simultaneously. In front of him stood Basilton Grimm-Pitch, his roommate of 8 years from Watford Boarding School. The boy that he hated and then quickly didn't hate. 

"Snow?" Baz asked in bewilderment, nose scrunched and mouth pulled into a grimace. He was wearing a soft knit, dark green jumper, loose jeans and socks. His black, window peaked hair was pulled into a messy bun and his eyes squinted in confusion behind a pair of large, gold-rimmed glasses. They were just nearly circular, the frames thin, and they looked very, very expensive. They opposed his sharp cheekbones and striking eyes.  
Simon seemed stuck in a mouth-half-open state. He hadn't seen Baz since the day they graduated- when the Mage had picked him up and fled. Baz was the reason he (maybe) liked boys, something he realized after they kissed in the doorway of their room a month before they graduated. Simon had freaked out and completely stopped talking to Baz. He was terrified of what could've happened if the Mage found out, so he didn't speak to Baz for their last month together and he left without saying goodbye. How do you pick up from there?

"Oh- Baz. You're wearing glasses." Simon stated. That was definitely one way to pick up a three-year absence. Baz stared down at him over his nose skeptically. A tiny smirk pulled at the edge of his mouth as if he didn't know whether to kick him off his property or have a jolly reunion. He ended up choosing a wary in between.

"Why..." he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "why are you here? I haven't heard from you in three years."  
Simon snapped out of his flashback-like trance and shook his head to clear his thoughts. Stick to the mission, he told himself. Stick to the routine disguise.

"Oh. Yeah, I didn't know you lived here. Sorry. I'm here actually because I'm with animal control... in the town over. There have been complaints of um, coyotes in the area? I was talking to your neighbours and they all think they might be in your forest here," Simon gestured awkwardly to the surrounding acres of foliage.  
Baz took on a familiar marble-like stare, devoid of emotion. Simon was used to that look; it was the stare he himself took on when he wanted to guard his emotions.

Baz knew there were coyotes in the forest, yes, but they weren't the ones that needed to eat neighbourhood cats to survive. Except Simon didn't need to know that, so he planned to divert him.

"Since when did you ever want to get into animal control?" Baz cross-examined, folding his arms against his chest and leaning against the doorframe.

Simon racked his brain, thrown off by the question and Baz's expensive glasses, which he couldn't peel his eyes from. The whole situation was disorienting him, unhinging his previous assumption that this house held vampires.

"I...um," he rubbed the back of his neck, not knowing how to answer. Normally during a case, he didn't have to interact with old classmates who he lived with for years. Baz more than anyone would have been confused by his complete change in life plans. "The, uh, Mage thought I would be good at it.... he had acquaintances in the company and stuff, got me a job."

"Really?" Baz asked, marble blockade melting off his face with the genuine question, "even after he got all paranoid? He was worried about everything yet let you work with rabid animals?"  
Simon flinched. If only Baz knew what his job actually entailed.

"Uh. Yeah. So, um," he stumbled over his words, hand still clutched around the back of his neck. Baz had always made him nervous, but this felt like a whole new level of unease.

"Use your words, Simon," Baz interrupted, dropping his crossed arms. He sounded soft like he had in year 8 when he stopped acting like he hated Simon. Bloody hell, this whole situation was not helping the mission.

"Yeah. I just need to check your woods out, if that's alright? Is there anywhere you've seen any.... massacred animals?" He asked, cringing at the question while Baz smirked.

Baz was ready to send his old roommate on a wild goose chase. The coyotes had done nothing wrong, and he didn't want Simon to kill off a whole pack for no reason. Plus, it'd be funny to see Simon wandering aimlessly through acres of the forest only to find absolutely nothing.

"Yeah, sure. I mean we haven't had any problems, but sometimes I hear them outback. Seems to come from the east. There might be a path you could follow but I'm not sure how long it'll last. We have a lot of property out there and I haven't explored half of it," he lied. Baz had seen the forest inside and out by now. He was sending Simon in the opposite direction of the pack.

"Thanks! I'll uh, maybe see you later?" Simon replied, ready to set off and look for clues. Baz grimaced and grabbed the door, ready to shut it in his face.

"Probably not." He nodded goodbye, throwing the heavy door closed. Simon exhaled a breath he didn't realize he was holding and set off.

—————

After three hours of stomping through Baz's darkening forest, Simon was positive he would find absolutely nothing. He hadn't traced a single thing- not a drop of blood, no animal corpses, no footprints. He hadn't even found a coyote pack. All he had accomplished was a damp, muddy smell. He was exhausted and bored without any action.  
It was probably a dead end. No need to wander through a forest that obviously doesn't have a vampire (or any animals it seemed, what the hell?) when he could shower and maybe get a drink at the pub next to his inn. He could just pick up the case tomorrow and maybe get something done. Obviously, he was having a bad day.

Simon trudged back to the manor's drive. The house (could he even call it a house?) still looked cold and mysterious on the outside. Simon knew he should head back to the inn, but he couldn't stop thinking about how Baz was only a few steps away from him. Maybe he should tell him there was nothing to worry about in the forest.

He walked back up to the door, ignoring the knocker once more, shifting awkwardly on his feet as he waited for the door to open. When it did, he frowned in disappointment.  
Standing in front of him was an older version of Mordelia Grimm. Simon hadn't seen her since she was in year one when she was 11 years old and still wore hot pink berets in her hair. Now she would have been 14 or so, and she was very obviously following in her (aunt?) Fiona's footsteps. She wore smudged black eyeliner, her messy black hair had a white dyed streak and her ears were all pierced up. She even had a septum piercing. If Simon wasn't so freaked out by the sudden age shift he would've been proud of how much she had grown. Simon was also reminded that it was summer, and she was obviously living at home like Baz used to.

"Simon?" She asked, turning her nose up, "what the hell are you doing here?"

He opened his mouth to explain but she widened her eyes and waved her hands dismissively.

"I don't actually care. At all. Here for Baz?" She quirked an eyebrow and Simon noticed it had a slit. He nodded mutely. Mordelia always freaked him out. She was demanding and scary, similar to Fiona.

"BAZ!" She screeched, leaning back while supporting her weight with the door handle. Her hair swung wildly and the door rocked back and forth.

"FUCK OFF MORDY IM TRYING TO READ!" Baz yelled back in response. Simon couldn't tell where the voice was coming from, there had to be hundreds of rooms in the house. They probably had a kitchen on every floor.

"SIMONS HERE! STOP BEING LAME AND COME SOCIALIZE!"

"Oh!" Simon heard a grunt and light footsteps before Baz appeared behind his sister. He was so much taller than her it was funny. She barely met his chin, and his legs were at the same height as her chest. All legs. Baz had always been all legs. It was the reason Simon lacked next to him.  
Mordelia glared at Baz before smirking at Simon, giving him a salute and vanishing. It was just Simon and Baz once more.

"So, uh, I didn't find anything to be concerned about in your forest... I didn't find much of anything actually," Simon brought his hand back to his neck, a nervous habit he had never been able to get rid of.  
Baz looked him up in down, making Simon extremely self-conscious of the leaves stuck in his curls and mud covering his pants. The constant rain had made the woods a mess of muck and dirt, and it clung to Simon like werewolf hair. Baz must've seen the disappointed look in Simon's eyes and took pity on him.

"You look like a wreck, Snow, why don't you come inside and get cleaned up," his eyes were soft,  
"I assume you're staying at the Knights Inn, and they only have cold water. I'm sure you don't want to sleep in a tiny bed as if you've rolled around with the pigs."  
Of course, Baz was right. Knights was the only place in town and it was a dump. It was worse than his place at home. Assuming Baz didn't stab Simon as soon as he stepped inside the mansion, he couldn't find any cons to a warm shower.

"I guess you're right, a shower would be great," Simon relented. Baz flashed him a smile- the first smile he'd seen from him in three years- and even though it wasn't soft and warm like it used to be, it made Simons heart flutter nonetheless.

"Come on Snow, come inside and take off those tragic boots. Malcolm doesn't like mud in the house, I was never even allowed a dog."

—

Baz's shower was seriously heavenly. The mud and sweat pooled at his feet, leaving him refreshed.  
He hopped out onto the bath mat to find that the bathroom was different than how he left it, meaning Baz had come into the bathroom while he was in the shower.  
3 years ago, when they had been roommates, that wouldn't have been weird. Now they were 3 years older. Plus all of the other problems. So many problems.

Nonetheless, Baz had left him two clean towels, blindly white and soft, along with new clothes. While Simon's ratty clothes were missing (except his boxers, oh god), there was a new stack of clothes: an old large navy blue jumper, grey sweats and a pair of socks.  
Simon tried to ignore the feelings in the pit of his stomach. Baz was just cleaning his clothes after he muddied them up in the forest. They were disgustingly dirty and just coated in Baz's backyard. Simon knew he couldn't fall back into the hole he did in year 8. He had a mission. He needed to find the vampire in the town, and he had to kill it.  
The mission was stupid. When he was sent, he was hoping there would be a pack like the one he had fought in London 2 years prior. Unfortunately, this singular vampire seemed to starve himself. There were barely animal corpses anywhere, and not a single body around. It was the least blood-lusting vampire alive- or not alive. Simon wasn't sure whether vampires were alive or not.  
Simon unwillingly (he was willing) pulled on Baz's clothes piece by piece. He tried not to breathe too deeply, as the clothes smelt just like him, unchanged from his Watford years. Cedar and bergamot. Absolute prick.

Simon padded out into Baz's room in Baz's socks, finally taking in his surroundings. He shouldn't have been surprised, seeing as the house was millions of dollars, and due to how posh Baz was in general. His walls were a deep, dark green, the same colour as the jumper he had been wearing. He had a four-poster king-sized bed and huge built-in rustic bookshelves that were overflowing with books, records, and awards. Even his desk was piled with papers despite the fact that it was summer, and if he did go to uni, he shouldn't have had any work.  
Obviously, the room cost more than Simon's life ever would.

Baz, completely unphased by the room, was lounging on his sofa (yes, he had a sofa in his room) with a blank face and a book.

"What'd you do with my clothes?" Simon asked, sliding his feet against the dark hardwood floors. He knew what Baz did with his clothes, but he needed something to break the silence.

"I put them in the wash, Snow," Baz deadpanned, quirking an eyebrow. The glasses had disappeared, much to Simon's disappointment. He wouldn't have kept them on knowing Simon took a liking to them.  
"What do you think I did with them? Fed them to the coyotes?"

Despite Baz's sharp remark, Simon shrugged nonchalantly. He felt strange in the soft jumper and too-long sweats. He didn't think it was possible that Baz owned sweats. He was too posh.  
Baz placed a laminated bookmark in his book and set it down beside him. He looked Simon up and down like he had at his doorway.

"You look much more presentable now. You looked like you purposely fell in the mud before, it was disgusting."  
Simon shifted from foot to foot. He wasn't sure how Baz thought about him after ghosting him three years before. He didn't want to say the wrong thing and get kicked out.

"I should have guessed you lived in a mansion, you were always too posh for Watford," he muttered in response. Baz sneered.

"Posh, but apparently a boarding school was the perfect place for me. Malcolm didn't want me ending up like Fiona. To his luck his two oldest like Fiona more than him." He brushed a loose black hair behind his ears, "at least I'm not the only disappointing child anymore."  
Simon looked at him funny. Baz was the smartest and most accomplished person at Watford of their year.

"How could you be a disappointment?" Simon plunked onto the floor in front of the couch. He was already readjusting to Baz's company, and Baz gave him a weird look as he settled in. "You're the smartest person I've ever met and you're incredible at everything. You're literally the dream child."  
Simon tried to hide his jealousy. If anyone was a disappointment to his family it was Simon- the Mage never believed what he did was good enough. No matter how much of his life he had sacrificed. Baz snorted at the encouragement,

"Ah yes, the perfect child. Refuses to work in the family business and is a flaming homosexual. Perfectly posh with a large sprinkling of rebellion." He spat. Simon avoided his eyes. Simon had known Baz liked guys since year seven, but knowing about it had only fuelled his problem.

"Well if it makes you feel any better, the Mage will probably always hate me. So we're both the problem children," he sighed, finally catching Baz's eyes. They stared and fell into a comfortable silence. They had become so close in the eighth year after hating each other for years. Simon wanted the closeness again.

"It's nice to see you again, Simon," Baz murmured. Simon hoped his cheeks weren't too colourful. He couldn't do this. He had a mission. In and out. Easy peasy.  
But Baz was right in front of him. Baz was there and there was no danger around him for the first time in years. Simon was in Baz's clothes and in his room.

"It really has been too long..." he muttered in agreement, swallowing deeply. Baz opened his mouth to say more when the door was dramatically thrown open.

"Dinner!" Mordelia screeched even though they were sitting two feet away from her. Baz's eyes flashed,

"Mordelia, what did I say about knocking?" He snarled, hands clenched into fists. Mordelia rolled her eyes. She looked more and more like Fiona each time Simon saw her, and they weren't even related.

"Yeah yeah, knock first, whatever. It's not like you two were snogging. God, you're so touchy," she left the room with another eye roll, purposely leaving the door wide open. Baz growled like an animal, his pale cheeks showing the first bit of colour Simon had seen all day. The only bit of colour Simon had seen since they kissed.  
Although mortified, Simon couldn't help but bark a laugh,

"Well at least Mordelia doesn't care about your 'flaming homosexuality,'" he snorted. Baz shifted his glare to Simon deadly quick.  
At the mention of food Simon's stomach growled, and he couldn't help but take note of Baz's state. He looked malnourished. His skin was paler than Simon had ever noticed, his eyes were dark, and his cheeks sunken. While Simon had noted these features in year five, they seemed worse now. He always assumed Baz was depressed or stressed out due to school, but realistically it looked as if Baz had an eating disorder.  
Baz saw Simon checking him out and rolled his eyes in a similar fashion that Mordelia had- not that Simon would tell him that.

"Come on, Snow. It's dinner time," he stood up, dusting off his completely clean jeans.

"Dinner?" Simon asked in bewilderment and stood up with him.

"Yes, stupid, it's nearly 7. I told Daphne to add an extra set while you took your hour-long shower."

"For me?" Simon questioned stupidly. He felt weirdly welcomed in his warm clothes and the strange house.

"There's no one else here Snow, let's be bright. You didn't lose all your brain cells killing animals did you?" Baz snapped, leaving the room. Simon stared at his back with a frown.

"Shut up," he muttered and followed close behind so he wouldn't get lost.

—

Simon was convinced Baz had an eating disorder after dinner. Or something like that. He didn't really know much about mental illnesses. He knew more about monsters than people at this point.

While Simon couldn't get enough of Daphne's shepherd's pie (he had never eaten something that tasted so... homemade) Baz had barely touched his small serving. Simon watched carefully as Baz took tiny, calculated bites, and then began to chew with his hand covering his mouth. He hardly touched the meal by the time Simon had three servings.  
Simon was worried about his old friend, but when they walked back up to Baz's room and he had brought it up, it went something like this:

"You didn't eat a lot of dinner."

"Yeah, and you ate a fuck ton."

"Well, Daphne offered more..."

"Ah yes, you are just so polite you couldn't turn down the offer"

"Shut up. But seriously, you barely ate tonight."

"I wasn't hungry tonight."

"Your stomach was growling!"

"Your stomach was growling."

"Yeah! Because I was hungry."

"Yeah. And I wasn't. Shut up, Simon."

And that was the end of that conversation. Simon was stubborn, but Baz was closed off. It was near impossible to get information out of him and he became touchy after that conversation. When they made it to his room and Simon plopped onto the floor, Baz gave him a dark look.

"What?" Simon snapped like he would have years ago.

"Your clothes are probably done," he stayed before promptly leaving Simon in the room. Alone.

Simon was a trainer stalker and killer (if he said it like that it sounded horrible) and being left in a room made the tips of his fingers itch with curiosity.  
He wanted information. Maybe something to tell him where Baz had been for the past three years.  
It made him feel a bit guilty to go through a human's room who had done nothing wrong rather than a creature's, but Simon had done this all of the time back at Watford. Going through Baz's things was like second nature. Simon wandered to the bookshelves absentmindedly, noting familiar books from their Watford days. On the floor next to a record player were several of the records Baz had hidden under his bed in their old room so that Simon wouldn't touch them (he always did). They were obviously this favourites considering that three years later they were still used the most often. A Bowie album (baz was obsessed with bowie), a Stones album. He spotted what looked like a Nirvana record along with Green Day.  
Although Baz's interest in books and music was nice to see, it wasn't going to teach him anything about Baz's current life.

Simon wandered to the paper-covered desk next, to investigate what he could. Before he picked up a paper he spotted a drop of dried blood on the old wood. He knew how to spot blood from a mile away.  
The discovery jolted him back to reality- why he was in Baz's town in the first place. He needed to find and kill the vampire before it decided to stop its diet and start chewing on humans. If anything supernatural hurt Baz (and his family, he supposed) Simon would never forgive himself. Especially since it was his job.

The door swung open before Simon could pick up a single page on the desk.

"Stop going through my stuff, Snow, you did that enough at Watford. I would think my room would be safe from your grimy fingers." Baz huffed on opposing sides of the large room from him. Simon turned to see him clutching a pile of clothes- Simon's clothes- a pair of old cargo pants, a grey shirt with the Watford logo and holes, and his fraying socks.

"You really need to take better care of your clothes," he sniffed in disgust, throwing the pile at Simon's chest. He stumbled to grab each article. 

"I'm on a job to hunt down rabid coyotes, it's not like I need a suit," Simon muttered, clutching his clothes to his chest. They smelt like Baz's detergent, like Baz. He would be stuck with the smell for days.

"Still, there are holes in your socks. Just throw them out, it's embarrassing," Baz nodded towards his bathroom. Simon took the hint and left to change. He immediately missed the soft jumper.  
When he was done and stepped out of the bathroom, Baz was nowhere to be seen. He obviously had gotten bored of Simon's presence and left. Simon sighed dramatically. This day seemed to last forever. No leads, just awkward encounters with Baz.  
He ran his hands through his hair in exasperation and stepped out of the room, and nearly slammed into Baz. Baz's eyes widened in alarm as he tried to steady his mug of tea- earl grey?- as it sloshed precariously near the edges of the cup.

"Watch where you're going, Snow!" He snapped, wiping a hand on his pants where the tea had spilt on him. Simon sneered,

"Your hallways are pitch black, how was I supposed to see you?"

"Shut up," Baz muttered. Simon stepped back a foot so that there was space between them.

"So, I guess I should be heading out..." he commented. He searched for upset on Baz's face but was met with his marble-like blank stare. He wasn't going to open up anytime soon.

"Yeah. Ok, see you in another three years I guess," he stated nonchalantly, eyes sharp as Simon's sword. He tried to dodge around him to get into his room. Simon, despite knowing that he couldn't have a relationship in his organization, that he definitely couldn't have a relationship with a man, and had a mission to kill a vampire and leave, grabbed Baz's shoulder before he could shut the door on his face. He'd rather not wait another three years to see Baz again. Simon didn't realize how much he had missed him until they were in the same vicinity.  
This job was supposed to be painless. Easy. He was supposed to find the vampire, chop its head off, and head back to base. It should have taken three days tops. He wasn't supposed to be falling for his old roommate all over again, one tug at his chest at a time. He was glad that Baz's house was a dead end because it gave him more time in Baz's hometown. Near Baz. He was a mess.  
Baz froze under Simon's touch and stared at him expectantly. Simon didn't know what to say, he just didn't want to leave.

"Could you... um, drive me to the inn? It's getting dark, and I didn't drive over," he divulged, embarrassed. Baz stared at him like he was insane.

"You didn't drive here? You walked from the inn? Are you daft?" He spat. Simon chuckled,

"Oops?"

"You are seriously the worst animal control person I have ever met," he huffed, glaring at Simon, "fine. Let's get on with it."

Baz- upsettingly- put his freshly made cup of tea in a reusable Starbucks bottle and led Simon to a 5 car garage that was unattached to the house. An entire building, just for cars. It looked nicer on the outside than Simon's place.  
Baz owned a 2019 black Mercedes Benz (of course he did) without a trace of dirt or a scratch. That seemed nearly impossible, considering they lived in a town full of muck, but Simon assumed he had a personal car washer or something roaming around. He had seen a maid at dinner, he wouldn't be surprised.  
He carefully stepped into the passenger side, careful not to kick any mud into the fancy car. It was too pristine to have mud in it. Baz pulled out slowly into the darkening night.

"You're staying at Knights, correct?" Baz asked, face slack.

"Uh, yeah. There was nowhere else in the town." Simon replied, moving the functions on the side of the seat so that it leaned back and pushed forwards. Baz glared at him.

"I know there isn't, but it still sucks. Good luck," Baz pulled onto a neighbourhood road near the Main Street. He wasn't actually that far from town, but the town was surrounded by dark forests and if Baz was right and there were coyotes roaming around, he didn't want to meet them. He knew how to kill vampires. Not coyotes. It couldn't be that hard, but it wasn't necessary.

"So are you leaving tomorrow?" Baz asked, trying to sound casual, eyes on the road. Simon wished he was wearing his glasses and speaking softly again. He wanted Baz from three years ago.

"Um. No, I actually was told to uh, find out whether the coyotes are rabid? Yeah, something like that." Simon tried to explain. Baz scoffed.

"Wow, you really sound like you understand your job, Snow," he turned the car down another road. The few streetlights made the town a perfect mix of light and dark, and every time they passed under a lamp it shadowed Baz's eyes and cheekbones making him look more intimidating.

"Shut up," he muttered, crossing his arms and looking out the window. He didn't normally have to explain a disguise. He was usually in, killed, and out before the week ended. A tiny speck of dirt of the window made him feel better. Simon had the urge to place his hot hand on the window and leave a large handprint, just to annoy Baz.  
Baz pulled up to the inn, crumbling old yellow stone and crowded by the sports pub and sweets shop. It was such a strange town, Simon really didn't understand the layout. Baz put the car in park and stared at Simon.

"So, um," Simon cleared his throat, "I was wondering actually. If the coyotes are in your forest, could I get your number in case I need to come back? I mean unless you don't want to I'd understand-"

"Jesus, Snow, you're hopeless. Give me your phone," he demanded. Simon carefully went to his contacts.  
Baz quickly typed in his number and handed the phone back. His hands were more calloused than Simon remembered, but his nails were still chewed down to the bit. They were no longer kids, but Baz still had the same nervous habits.

"Thanks," Simon muttered, pocketing his phone.

"You're welcome, Snow," Baz replied, followed by an awkward silence.

"Maybe," Simon coughed half-heartedly and rubbed his neck, "maybe I could see you before I leave?"

"Maybe." Baz gave him a dark look. He was shutting down. Conversation over. Simon took the hint and got out of the car, and Baz sped away before Simon could wave goodbye.

There was no point in fretting. He had a dead-end he needed to sort out.


	2. Should I Stay Or Should I Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter two; Simon feels useless, Baz hates children, a beer (or two) with your old roommate, "since when do you smoke?" and dead birds

Two days later, Simon had found next to nothing. While everything seemed to lead to Baz's side of town, he couldn't find the exact location. There was nothing in Baz's forest (except mud; so much mud) and there were no new discoveries since Simon had arrived. It was like the vampire was on a hunger strike, or he just picked up and left altogether.  
It would be very bad for Simon if he returned back to base after losing a vampire. The Mage would be pissed, and he might be placed with a partner. That would be torture; Simon hated working with the people in the organization. They were all Mage clones, paranoid, angry, frantic, and overall assholes.

By the end of Simon's third day in town, the day he should have been heading home, he had nothing. He had no one else to talk to (he had literally spoken to everyone in town, and there were so many old women), there were no new rumours, dead animals (except for a squirrel hit by a car), and no trail whatsoever.  
Simon was bored, and he found himself wanting to text Baz. Until then, he hadn't texted him. He didn't want to distract from the case. Now, there seemed to be no case and Simon didn't feel like spending time with the old men in the sports pub yelling at the football players.  
Not only did he not want to be distracted, but he was worried about what would happen if he spent too much time with Baz. After that day in year 8 when they kissed, Simon shut down, struck with fear. He blanked out until graduation, and the last month of school was a blur. He was terrified that the Mage would find out through rumours or whatnot, and what he would have been punished with. Probably a day of starvation and fingers in a door jam. He honestly didn't want to find out.  
That was why he had so easily joined the organization. Why he never questioned the job he was given. He was terrified for years that he would somehow find out about that moment.  
Anyways, he was good at his job. He understood what he had to do. No time to think.

He texted Baz nonetheless. He couldn't stop himself as his fingers gravitated to his friend's contact. His brain was screaming "DO IT" and "STOP RIGHT NOW" at the same time. Simon told him to meet at Queens Head, the pub next door to the inn.

Simon wandered down a few minutes after, clutching his phone and waiting for a response. It never came.  
He plopped down at the bar and ordered a beer, staring blankly at the game above him. Why would Baz agree to see him? He owed him nothing. If anything, Simon owed him for the warm shower and clean clothes. That didn't stop him from constantly checking his phone for messages, making sure his notifications were on and if he had service. 30 minutes later with no response, Simon was even more bored than before. He needed to do something.

And then Baz sat down next to him with no warning. Simon stared as he waved down the bartender and ordered a beer as well.

"I didn't think you'd show," Simon broke the silence. The pub around them was surprisingly quiet. A football game played on the tv, which Simon recognized as Tottenham against Newcastle. The sports bar was much like the others Simon had seen around England- football Jerseys and pictures of preferred teams lining the cherry wood walls, scuffed up floors from game nights, booths lined up against the dusty windows facing the road and a long bar with 15 different beer taps. The reddish-brown walls and dark green accents complemented each other, creating a masculine aura that you would expect to smell of spilt drinks, pub food, and firewood. On the far side of the bar under another large tv, sat a blazing hearth, warming the pub despite the summer heat. A pub isn't welcoming without natural heat.

"I wasn't. I just had nothing better to do," Baz responded, sipping his beer nonchalantly. He was drawing circles on the bar top, complete with stained ale rings, deep scratches, and a peeling finish. Small village bars made Simon feel warm and homey.

"Or maybe you just really wanted to see me," Simon tipped his pint towards Baz who pulled a face and leaned away from the gesture as if the drink was poison.

"Unlikely," he recovered, noticeably and purposely shifting his chair away from Simon's, "I just hate my family and there's no one interesting in this town. Just blue hairs and children. I hate children."

"What did children ever do to you? You know you were a child not so long ago," Simon stated as though the comment personally offended him. Baz wasn't wrong though. While Simon didn't mind kids, they were loud and they grew so bloody fast, and they all reminded him of Mordelia, who was a complete beast.

"Snow, I have four younger siblings. I'm allowed to hate kids as much as I'd like. Also, I'm deeply offended that you once considered me a child. I've always been vastly more mature than you," He spat. Simon snorted into his drink and had to wipe his mouth with the hem of his grey shirt, probably leaving a stain.  
Instead of replying, he peered at Baz over the rim of his glass. It was so strange to see him in this environment- something so boundlessly different than Watford. Simon had only ever known boarding school Baz- intense, aggressive, a genius, and a bully. He had clearly grown since then- it had been three years- but he had grown in a different way than Simon had. While Simon hadn't gained any more height like he wanted, he knew he had broadened out due to self-defence lessons, scraping with merwolves, and killing dragons. Whenever he looked in the mirror, the smiley kid from Watford was disappearing and being replaced with a killer. He wasn't sure he liked it. He seemed to be losing the best part of himself- optimistic, oblivious, unaware. The part that got him through school and kept him out of the supernatural world. But, if his job was saving people, could he complain?

Baz, still towering and intimidating, always looking more like a Pitch than a Grimm, seemed to have grown more unhappy. He seemed too tired to control his marble stature. His face was no longer young and if Simon hadn't known he was only 21, he would have expected grey to poke through his mop of black hair. He looked tired. Simon had expected that Baz's sad demeanour would have vanished after he left Watford. Without the conflict of school, he should have been cheery, but it was worse.

Sitting beside him, Simon noted how Baz's (now red) jumper hung off him as if there were no meat on his bones, his face pulled taut and chalky. He was clutching his ale tightly, staring into the gold pint deep in thought, as if he was wondering how many of the drinks he would need to forget this interaction.

"Do you ever miss Watford?" Simon asked randomly, hoping to start an actual conversation. He knew he missed Watford like a lost limb and would give anything to be in that life again. To be with the friends that he had lost touch with, to learn and eat on a schedule, and to bug Baz whenever he had the chance.

"Do I miss this boarding school my father sent me to so he didn't have to raise me? Not really." He replied dryly. Simon grunted in defeat, staring up at the football game. Baz sighed.

"But I guess I do. I mean, I miss wreaking havoc with my mates, and I miss a few of the teachers. Thank god the cook is my cousin, so I still get to eat her food," he continued.

"Oh yeah! I remember you had a key to the kitchen. You'd always sneak off at night and steal bags of crisps," Simon laughed. Baz wasn't looking at Simon but he could see a smirk pulling at the edge of his mouth.

"And you'd always take them from under my bed where I tried to hide them. I know you thought I didn't know, but you always left crumbs on your bed," He shook his head, "It was fun, I guess. Studying with Bunce in year seven and eight was interesting too. She was incredibly smart and had fantastic studying habits, bloody hell. I only just beat her scores at the end of the year."

"She's just naturally talented," Simon sighed, watching Baz take a sip of his ale.

"How is she? I mean I know we lost contact but you two were inseparable," Baz asked thoughtfully.  
Simon cringed and avoided Baz's eyes. Penny was a touchy subject that he tried not to think about. It just upset him.

"I haven't, uh, talked to her in a while actually."

"What?" Baz spun in his seat and stared at Simon like he was off his chain. "You two were like the school duo. You did everything together... it was a horrible sight really. What happened?"

Simon didn't know how to explain. In Baz's eyes, Simon was working for animal control. He couldn't exactly disclose that Penny and he had gotten into an argument a year after they graduated because of his job, and hadn't spoken since. That made no sense, despite the fact that Penny was vegetarian.  
Penny had always hated the Mage, and the two of them always planned to get away from him. To get a flat in London and never interact with him ever again. To attend university peacefully. Instead, the Mage pulled him into the organization and he suddenly had no time on his hands. When they were able to see each other, Simon couldn't tell her what he had been doing, and that infuriated her. He knew how crazy it would sound to Penny if he told her he was a monster killing assassin working for his estranged foster father. Simon tried to hide it, but after a year of tension, she discovered that he was a part of the organization. She, as expected, freaked out. She told Simon that it was insane, that it was a cult, and that the Mage was brainwashing him. Simon attempted to defend himself, but she rebutted that if Simon was in the organization by choice he wouldn't have hidden it from her for so long. He couldn't argue. She told him to text her when he realized the organization was criminal, and they hadn't spoken since.  
Well, Simon had tried to text her thousands of times, because she was his best friend, but she never replied. Penny was always hard-headed.

"We had a falling out, in a way. Conflicting lives. I guess we realized we're different after all," Simon shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal, but to him, it was a very big deal.

"You weren't different!" Baz exclaimed. Simon flashed him a weird look so Baz quickly explained himself. "I mean yeah, I always thought Bunce was too smart for you, but you were both stubborn idiots. When you put your mind to something you two wouldn't stop until it was finished. She was the brains and you were the brute force. That's why you were the perfect team!"  
Simon ignored the double insult and focused on the positives of the outburst. He and Penny had been the perfect team. He just wished she understood that he didn't know how to get away from the Mage. It seemed impossible to escape from him.

"It didn't work out in the end." He glared at his cup. It was Simon's fault that they weren't on speaking terms. "I mean I miss her, I just don't think she misses me."

Baz gave him a sympathetic glance that was very much unlike him.

"You seem to have had a few falling outs since school huh, Snow," Baz said, still staring at him like he was just now realizing Simon wasn't the same person from Watford, but a depressing and lonely one.

"It seems that way..." Simon mumbled, staring at the tv so Baz would stop the pity fest. "You still talk to Dev 'n Niall?"  
Fortunately, Baz took the hint and shifted back to normal in his seat, watching the game without actually paying attention.

"Well Devs' my cousin, that bastard, so it's basically impossible to ignore him. But yeah, Niall and I both attend Cambridge, and the three of us get together pretty often. They're my best mates, they'd probably hunt me down and kill me if I lost contact for more than a couple weeks. They think I'm too stuck in my head and always force me out and get me piss drunk," Baz chuckled, running a hand through his hair so that it slicked back. His hair was naturally mouldable. It was weird.  
Simon was jealous of Baz. If he ignored the constant look of pain and starvation on his features, Baz had the perfect Uni life- the life Simon wanted. He went to school and learned about the things he enjoyed, was close to his friends and saw them all the time, had a choice to do whatever he wanted with his life. He could drop everything for a night off of partying and fucking around his campus, probably worked a normal job. Even if he had family issues, Baz still had a family, and siblings, and people who cared about him.  
Simon had been pulled into the organization, and he had no say in the matter. He lost all contact with the people he cared about. His job became his life, and he had no time for anything else. It wasn't really a problem though when he didn't have anything outside of his job anyways.  
This was the first time in forever that Simon had had a friendly conversation and drink with someone he knew. He wouldn't admit it out loud, because fighting monsters was pretty cool, but he missed his simple life. He wished Penny and he had lived out their dream.

"So besides animals control," Baz sniffed in disdain, side-eyeing Simon, "What are you doing with your life?"

"Err, not much," Simon lied, rubbing his neck, "you know, my job pretty much takes over my life. It's assignment after assignment and I don't get much of a break. I get told what to do and I do it."

"That sounds painful," Baz grimaced.

"It's not. It's a good routine and I like how I don't have to think about what I'm doing, I guess. I haven't had a break in a long time and even though I'm technically on a job right now, this is really nice."

Baz stared at him funnily. He didn't know a lot about animal control, but he didn't think it was that painstaking. It was just a regular job for regular people. That's why he was so surprised that Simon had gotten into the business. He wasn't a regular person. While not likely, Baz had expected Simon to go into an interesting career- something that brought him on death-defying missions. Penelope Bunce and he had always been getting into trouble at Watford. They found things that weren't meant to be found and solved mysteries that were deemed unsolvable. They were like Sherlock Holmes and John Watson or the Scooby-Doo bunch. They just seemed to stumble upon strange things and set off to understand them. That was the way they always were from the moment they became friends in year one. The fact that they had a falling out was even more puzzling than Simon's occupation.  
Plus, from Baz's extensive knowledge, animal control shouldn't take over your life in the way Simon described it. It was a job that middle-aged men worked after they had a midlife crisis and needed a career change.  
Baz had a sneaking suspicion that Simon was lying, but what would be the reason? Nevertheless, Baz was more skeptical the more Simon spoke.

"I mean I sort of understand, uni is absolutely horrible. I thought that double majoring would be fine and dandy, but that along with a full-time job is draining as hell, I barely get any sleep when I'm at school," Baz replied, swirling his dangerously low drink.  
While Simon understood how difficult uni life could be, he wanted nothing more than that.

"I guess that's what life is like after school, you have ta' sacrifice things," Simon sighed.

"I can cheer to that," Baz chuckled, genuinely smiling for the first time that night, "here's to hating adult life!"  
The two clinked glasses half-heartedly in the low light and drained their cups. Even though the sun was gone and darkness was taking over the sky, they ordered another pint each as they started to enjoy each other's company. They didn't speak for a while, which Simon needed after he disclosed the depressing story of his life, and watched the football game. He didn't know if it was the ale or Baz and him getting along, but he felt warm inside. He wondered how different life would have been if he had refused to leave with the Mage, if he wasn't afraid to say no to him on his graduation night. If he had moved out with Penny, going to school and working a regular job like a bartender or barista. Would he be happy? If he hadn't lost contact with Baz and didn't freak out after they had kissed in year eight, would they still have been together? Would they have even gotten together? Simon would never know.

"So how are you liking school?" Simon asked, breaking the comfortable silence. He wanted to know more about Baz's regular life.

"Depends what you mean by like," Baz snorted, "I mean, it's bloody difficult. I'm taking an English and Philosophy double major which is basically impossible. Plus, I work at this super posh restaurant as a waiter that my father somehow had clients in, and everyone is boring as hell. I guess it does make me miss you chatting shit and being interesting when everyone I'm surrounded by is so painstakingly normal," he smirked.

"I'm not sure if that was an insult or a compliment," Simon laughed, actually feeling normal for the first time in years.

"Neither do I," Baz replied, downing the rest of his drink, "come on, Snow, you look like you need a smoke."  
Simon followed suit in finishing his beer, and before he could stop him, Baz told the bartender to put it all on his tab.

If anyone looked like they needed a smoke, it was Baz. Even more so than earlier in the night, he looked starved, crumbling away like most of the buildings in his town. Simon wanted to shove some food down his throat and force the nutrients into his bloodstream.

Although it was summer in England, the night was cool. Everything was tinted blue, the puddles reflecting the soft lighting from the pub. The streets were empty, and all that was left to listen to was the muted sounds of the football game, cars in the far distance, and Baz's feet on the pavement. It was a beautiful night, with a dusting of clouds, and starlight trying to bleed through.

He followed Baz to the alleyway in between Queens Head and the Knights inn (and yes, the sweet shop was called Kings Sweets- they had a theme running) as if this was a regular occurrence for the two of them. Have a couple of beers while watching the game, talking (flirting?), and then making their way to the alley for a smoke.  
Simon was relaxed, and yet the idea of a dark alleyway in a town with a Vampire added a layer of tension. In this tiny town, it would have been incredibly easy for Baz to lure him into the dark, kill him, and dispose of his body before anyone noticed he was missing.   
But this wasn't the Baz that hated his guts in third year and pushed him down the stairs. This was grown-up Baz. Mature and enrolled in university.

Once in the centre of the alleyway Baz leaned up against the damp stone wall and nodded for Simon to join him. He pulled a pack of Marlboro's, the expensive, much harsher brand, and offered one to Simon who happily obliged. While he didn't smoke often, he smoked Mayfairs when the occasion called for it because they were cheap. Plus, why would he turn down expensive cigarettes for free?  
It didn't surprise Simon that Baz smoked the most expensive brand of cigarettes in England, but what did surprise him was that he smoked at all. He seemed to be the snotty type that would rant about the damages of smoking on your lungs, and spout "your body is a temple" bullshit. Baz just didn't show the signs of a smoker; he had great breath, his hair was as full as ever, his fingernails weren't yellow and his teeth were as pearly white as they had been the day they met. Maybe he had the metabolism of a god.

In the dark alleyway, Simon couldn't see much but the outline of Baz's body and the glowing red tip of his cigarette. It illuminated the smoke that curled around his fingers. Simon couldn't look away from the mesmerizing dance of the tendrils until they dissipated into the night air.

"I didn't know you smoked," Simon grunted, pulling his eyes away from Baz.

"I didn't know you had a thing for killing animals," he spat. Simon rolled his eyes and took a drag, letting the smoke collect in his lungs.

"When did you start? I don't remember you smoking at school," he said, ignoring the comment like all of the other offhand things Baz said.

"That's because you're oblivious," he snapped, although Simon couldn't see his lips moving (he wished he could) "I started smoking year five, never got around to quitting."

"But you never smell like smoke?"

"Are you purposefully sniffing me, Snow?"

"Wh- why- no! Bloody hell," he spluttered, wanting to shove him, "fuckin' prick."  
Baz chuckled and took another hit, momentarily lighting up the sharp features of his face.

"It just soothes my nerves. My father thinks it's a disgusting habit, which it is, and he wants me to stop. 'Thinks I'll become an addict by 45 like Fiona is. I know I should quit but the fact that he wants me to makes me wanna chain smoke in front of his room just to make him mad."  
Simon shook his head, laughing softly into the silent night. The only light he could see was the moon muted by the clouds and the faraway street lights at the mouth of the alley. Neither provided any glow to where they both stood, but Simon liked it that way. It was like they were the only two people left on earth.

The company was so nice that they nearly began chain-smoking themselves, getting lost in conversation and access to nicotine.  
Baz finally pulled his phone out after a pause in discussion.

"Bloody hell, it's 10:30. I should probably head home."  
Simon didn't see the rush, but Baz clearly was done for the night. They walked side by side out of the alleyway together, and Simon could properly see for the first time in an hour. It left spots in his vision.

"Maybe we could do this again? Before I leave I mean," Simon presented, scuffing his feet against the pavement.

"Maybe," Baz replied, flicking his dead cigarette to the ground and squishing it with his boot. They walked over to the entrance of the inn, but when Simon turned to say goodbye Baz was still walking down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, and he wasn't going to turn around.

—

The next day, Simon nearly passed right by a killing.

The day was dull, grey, and slightly chilly- typical for England. Simon felt dull and grey with it, lonely after his night with Baz. He threw on a jumper and decided he needed to get some work done- 4 days with no clear leads was unheard of for him.

On his way out to his car, he walked past the dumpster in the parking lot. He didn't notice anything out of the ordinary until the smell hit him. He had to do a double-take. At this point in his job, Simon basically had a sixth sense in smelling death.  
He backtracked, and just like he thought, pushed half-heartedly behind the dumpster was a crow. There were flies buzzing around it and the smell was already starting to grow as Simon bent down next to it.  
He sighed and jogged over to his car, pulling a stake from the trunk, because it was the closest thing he had to a stick. He used it to pull the crow out of the small nook it was shoved into, scattering flies in every direction. Although he was disgusted by it, he crouched down and examined the scene.

He found it weird that the vampire had decided to chew on a bird as a snack because honestly, birds didn't have much blood. This vampire was obviously not like the rest. The kill was a vampire for sure though. Like all the other animals, the crow's neck was broken, head hanging limply in a way that animal heads should not hang, eyes beady, black, and wide open. Simon grimaced and tried not to gag at the smell. The throat was pierced and pulled at to get to the arteries and veins in the neck, and even though the feathers and skin were shredded, there was no trace of blood around it. Just raw meat and a horrible smell.

Simon sighed, lifting the dead bird with the stake carefully and tossing it into the trash so no other poor soul would have to find it.

It was strange that this was found so far away from the other sightings and strange that the vampire ate so little. From Simon's knowledge, that was extremely insufficient for a vampire, especially after 3 days of nothing. The vampires that he usually fought could drain a horse and a human in a day and still be up for more.

Maybe this vampire was sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah! here is the second chapter!! I'm probably going to post all of the chapters written right now which will motivate me to write the last two,,, I hope you enjoyed!


	3. Dirty Little Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter three: Mordelia is learning Judo, Baz wants to get drunk, more dead animals, and both a panic attack and a gay crisis in 30 minutes

Baz texted Simon first the next day. He said it was because Mordelia was driving him crazy but Simon knew there was something else behind his intentions. He texted Simon to meet him at the Queen's Head at 9:30. Simon, having nothing else to do but lie in his lumpy, too-small bed and watch the news on a box tv, promptly shot up, showered in cold water, and put on the only nice clothes he had.

He headed down at 9:15, just to be sure he wouldn't miss him, and was left to sit and for an entire hour. He should never have expected Baz to show up on time, even if he was the one to make plans. He was most likely taking his sweet ass time, wandering the castle-Esque hallways and sliding down the spiral staircase railing. Simon was just deciding to drink away the night when Baz slammed through the doors dramatically. He stomped to the bar where Simon was and took a heavy seat. He ignored Simon, waving over the bartender.

"Two shots of Jack Daniel's," he said roughly to the greying man. Simon frowned, his eyebrows pinching in the centre as Baz studiously ignored him. He received his shots and didn't waste a second to throw them back. He left his head tipped back, black hair still swaying from the violent change in position, eyes closed softly. Simon gazed, confused, and (unwillingly) awestruck. Then Baz took a deep breath, his chest rising and dropping heavily, and sat back up to face Simon.

"Bad night?" Simon laughed, dismissing his previous thought that Baz was just leaving him to rot at the bar. Baz shook his head, messing up his hair, and lined up the two shot glasses, pushing them away from him.

"Mordelia. I can't stand her. She's gotten into," he shuddered, "Judo."

Simon covered up a laugh at the vision of Mordelia, a small 14-year-old, taking down her 21-year-old brother in a chokehold. Baz was pulling at his hair with one hand and tapped the table with the other to signal the bartender. He gestured for a couple more shots. Simon assumed they might be drinking the night away after all.

"And Judo means.... you getting beat up?" Simon snorted, graciously accepting the shot Baz slid over to him.

"I would rather not think about the night's events, thank you very much. I'm getting rid of all memories as of now," he clinked his shot glass with Simon's, spilling some alcohol onto Simon's hand. "Join me."

Simon shrugged and downed the shot with him. Drinking was fine and good considering how horribly he was doing in his job as of late. He could pretend the day had never happened.

"This seems to be our new meet up spot, eh?" Simon asked, licking the drips of Jack Daniels off of his hand. Baz's gaze was trained on Simon's hand with a glare.

"Would you rather trek around my backyard, Snow?" He grunted, already working to get more alcohol. He wasn't lying about going all out and getting piss drunk. He would be puking in an hour if he kept up like this.

The bartender didn't seem to even notice the orders, he just kept passing him drinks. Maybe Baz did this often. He was a local after all.

"That's not what I meant," Simon mumbled, taking a shot and drinking it without Baz's lead,  
"I was just... I don't know. Pointing it out?"

"Good observation then," Baz rolled his eyes. Simon huffed and grabbed his beer, clutching it as support. He wasn't used to Baz's constant demeaning comments like he used to be in Watford.

"Don't have to be a prick, just trying to make small talk," he mumbled into his pint. Baz glanced over at him from his 4th shot and a new glass of white wine. He had a shitty smirk on his face. Simon had a flash of white teeth before he gulped down wine and ignored him. The gulp was over-exaggerated- just showing off his Adam's apple and pale skin. Bragging bastard.

"Is small talk needed? You don't have to speak to me at all," Baz said with a mouthful of wine. He didn't care what Simon thought. He cursed himself for being hopeful when Baz made plans. He just wanted to get sloshed and not have the bartender as company.

"Stop being a cheeky shit," Simon snapped, taking a gulp of drink, "You invited me here, so you may as well be civil."

Baz frowned at his glass thoughtfully, like he wasn't really sure what brought him here in the first place. He probably regretted calling Simon, realizing that he was the same bloke from Watford except with more scruff.

"You know what I don't understand?" Simon continued after a prolonged silence of chugging drinks and ignoring each other, "why'd you even call me here in the first place? It's not like you don't have other mates that would visit you. You don't even like me."

Baz looked up at him, the drink already starting to take its hold. His pupils were dilating in the low light unevenly and he didn't seem to have a spitting remark, his mouth slightly hanging open. Simon can remember several occasions when Baz bullied him for being a "mouth breather". He wondered what would happen if he called him out for that same thing.

"Because... I haven't seen you in a while?" He responded at last.

"You saw me yesterday."

"Perhaps," he tore his eyes away and drank more wine, spilling a drop down his chin. He stared ahead blankly and wiped it with the back of his hand, licking his lips to savour the taste.  
Simon found himself wondering if his lips would taste of wine or Jack Daniels.

"What do you mean perhaps?" Simon laughed suddenly. He couldn't take his eyes off of Baz. He was wearing a tight T-shirt and fitted jeans, and Simon realized Baz wasn't as skinny as he previously thought. He idly wondered whether Baz still played football. He may be lanky but he had muscle. And, well, his thighs were definitely something Simon could worship.

Maybe the alcohol was starting to kick in.

"Well... time isn't real," Baz said slowly, still avoiding him and staring forwards, both hands on his wine glass, fingertips carefully stroking the rim.

"What?" Simon barked, completely thrown off. Did Baz get philosophical when liquored? He probably became smart and spouted poetry while Simon got slow and giggly.

"I... have no clue what I'm saying," Baz chuckled, dropping his head and slapping the bar top twice. Two shots appeared in front of him like magic. He pulled one beside his wine and shoved the other to Simon.

"You're chatting shit, that's what you're doin'," Simon laughed, taking the shot into his hands. "I hope you know I'm not paying for all these drinks you're throwing at me. I think you're just trying to get me drunk."

Bad finally looked at him again, smiling and squinty already. It had been 20 minutes and he was already starting to sway. He lifted his hand and patted Simon's hair like that was a regular thing to do. It pulled shivers up his spine.

"Don't you worry, Simon dear, I've got a running tab, you're covered."

He began to laugh and dragged his hand out of Simon's curls.

"Didn't take you as a lightweight," Simon said, trying to pull his eyes away and ignore the fact that he was also feeling the effects of the alcohol.

"Didn't take you as someone who would care," he replied. His eyes were locked on Simon's, wine forgotten and pushed away. His grey eyes looked softened by the drinks, and Simon had to admit he enjoyed it. Less snarky, less mean. Baz was smoothing his edges with liquor and ignoring the consequences of a hangover.

"I care, stupid," Simon retorted, leaning foreword to shove Baz's shoulder but slipping on his chair and coming on too hard. Baz caught his stumble and pushed him back with a smile. He seemed much less... angry and sad, to put it simply. His smile was more present, his laughs were soft, and his posh voice was slurred, making him sound a little more normal.

"Whoa there, Snow, can't keep yourself off me."

"Oi, Shut it!"

"Why?"

"Cause I said so."

"What're you gonna do about it, Snow?" Baz asked, leaning forwards.

Simon was not very good at flirting or taking hints (in Penny's words he was "incredibly thick") but this definitely seemed like an invitation. An invitation that Simon, slightly drunk and reliving his schoolboy crush, did not want to turn down. If he made a move would Baz be upset?   
He held Baz's eyes, neither of them backing down, and decided, yes, there's definitely too much sexual tension for that not to be an invitation.

He shrugged and stood up, walking away from Baz. He heard a noise of a question, and then footsteps behind him. He didn't turn around until he made it to the door and held it open for Baz, who was looking genuinely confused.  
Well, he was confused until Simon led him to the alleyway.

"Here I thought we were getting somewhere, but no, Simon just wants a smoke," he joked quietly, a couple of steps behind Simon. He ignored the comment, walking further into the alley until they were enveloped in a shadow.  
Simon pivoted to face Baz, who looked ready for anything- an attack, a smoke, a kiss.  
His long black hair cast black shadows over his skin, and Simon, somehow, wasn't scared like he was three years ago.

So he grabbed Baz's shirt and pulled him into a kiss. It was messy, as they worked to figure out the logistics of each other's faces, but soon Simon's tongue was in Baz's mouth and he was shoving Baz against the brick wall.

Simon didn't meditate, but he imagined this was what mindfulness felt like. He could hear and taste and feel everything. He was in the moment, and it was perfect. It felt like a fantasy, with the tree frogs singing and birds chirping. The warm night was cut with a cool biting breeze, ruffling Baz's hair while Simon's hands ran through it. The navy sky was muddied with clouds and prickled with stars, cars drove by on the far-away roads and the breeze made the leaves on trees blow pleasingly. In the distance, electrical towers blinked red, mixed with soft golden lights from the storefronts outside of the alley. It smelt cool despite it being midsummer.

They stood on the damp cold pavement, Baz's back pressed against rough brick and they were kissing heavily, quickly, rushed- peppered with grunts and heavy breathing. It was sloppy and imperfect and rushed and needed and Simon couldn't have imagined anything better.

Baz's cool hands slowly made their way under Simon's shirt, brushing over his hips and dancing over his back ceaselessly. It made Simon shiver and arch away from it on natural instinct, pressing his chest closer to Baz's. Simon gripped Baz's hair and he ran his fingers through it like he used to dream about. Everything about the moment was perfect.

The kiss started to push further and they were both running out of air. It turned into teeth and tongue and lip. Simon explored Baz's mouth, wanting to understand how his teeth were so straight whilst his were crooked and fucked up. He felt every tooth.

And then he met Baz's eye-teeth, accidentally ran his tongue over his gums, and found a large and unnatural bump. He tried to ignore it, but by instinct, he checked the other and was met with the same pressing unnatural feeling.

Simon pulled back, unsure what to think. But Baz was looking at him like that, and his eyes were shadowed but warm and inviting and his cold fingers were on Simon's waist just tucked under his waistband.  
And Simon was drunk, so whatever he thought he felt wasn't real, and he was just paranoid because he was getting nowhere in this case and was snogging a bloke outside of a sports pub.  
And Baz is real. And he's right there in front of him, and Simon is so warm from the contact and the alcohol. He hadn't had contact like this in years.  
And Baz was already reaching forwards, already caught his breath, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. He looked desperate and he was moving drunkenly. Simon caught Baz's mouth like he was magnetically attracted to him. Simon couldn't stop himself. It was inevitable.

Baz's leg was around Simon's thigh and their bodies were completely pressed together. Simon wondered if they were moving too fast.  
But they are both 21. They've been adults for ages. And Simon has done much riskier things than make out with an old school mate.  
So Simon cupped his hand behind Baz's head, pressed against the brick wall and he moved to Baz's neck. Simon thought about the marks he was going to leave when he bit down. Baz stretched back and leaned his head into Simon's palm  
Baz's fingertips danced over his skin when Simon caught his mouth again, but it was quick and rushed and unexpected and Baz's tooth caught Simon's lip, cutting it.

Baz pulled away immediately, and just as he did someone threw away trash at the mouth of the alley, creating a huge crash. Baz jumped dramatically and pushed Simon back. They were both huffing, partly from the scare and partly from the kissing.

Simon looked back and forth, and when no one caught his eye he surged forward to meet Baz once again, wiping the blood off his lip with the back of his hand smoothly. He took his eyes off of Baz's lips and looked into his eyes. Baz seemed very suddenly sober- eyes wide, hands twitching, and his lip pulled into his mouth. His brow furrowed and he put a hand on Simon's chest when he stepped close enough to kiss again. He knawed his lip and huffed quietly. With the amount of alcohol in Baz's system, he shouldn't have been thinking about consequences, but Baz was too smart to let his guard down for long.

"Wha-"

"Soon, Snow. Let's see how you feel tomorrow, without the buffer of alcohol. I want you to actually want this," he said softly, hand still on Simon's chest. Simon could see his tongue running over his teeth despite his pursed lips. Simon frowned, still breathing heavily and his heart beating wildly under Baz's hand.  
He stared at Baz's hand, and his eyes traced his arm to his shoulder. Simon's haze travelled to his neck, up to his mouth, and finally landed on his eyes. They were serious and pained. This all felt so good and real, like Simon finally meant something to someone.  
But Baz was right. Simon needed to think this through when he was sober, and at the moment, he was quite the opposite.

"Are you leaving?" Simon asked quietly, putting his hand on top of Baz's. It was cold and twitchy. Baz turned his head and avoided Simon's eyes, his cool demeanour returning as if he could actually pass a breathalyzer test.

"You should head inside, Snow. It's getting cold," he replied, looking out to the distant lights. For someone still pressed into a brick wall, he was acting very calm.

"So you are leaving," Simon pouted, still staring at Baz's pursed lips.

"Come see me tomorrow, then we'll talk."

Baz dropped his hand from Simon's chest and started to take a step away but Simon caught his hand and pulled him back to place. Baz glared at him, glancing down at his lips for a millisecond before staring hard into his eyes.

"I won't leave this time," Simon stated, hoping to relieve Baz of any of the worries he had of Simon running away again. And to make the promise to himself.

"We'll see about that, Snow."

"I promise I won't!"

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

"I will not leave. I won't." Simon said determinedly, catching Baz's eyes and holding them. Baz searched for a lie in Simon's, but whether it be the dark or a genuine promise, he couldn't find anything.

"Well..." Baz sighed, using his unoccupied hand to run it through his messy hair, "then I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Walk me back?" Simon asked, eyes big. He held tighter on to Baz's hand and stared hopefully at him. Unlike Baz, he was still very much drunk, and clingy.

"You're a big boy, walk yourself," Baz snorted, looking away.

"But I don't want you to go."

"... clingy," Baz chuckled, rubbing the bridge of his nose and shaking his head.

"Yeah, so?" Simon challenged, quirking his head. Baz laughed and again and began to pull Simon down the alley. He didn't let go of Simon's hand, mostly because Simon had a death grip, but also because Simon's drunken stupor made him never want to let go of Baz. He wanted to drag him up to his room in the B'n'B and lay next to him all night. But, Baz wouldn't do that. He was going to go home, and probably try to forget this ever happened.

Simon pulled his still bleeding bottom lip into his mouth and tried to lick the blood away, but it didn't seem to stop. A permanent red stain on his pink lips.

When the two of them arrived at the Inn, Simon tried to sneak in a kiss, because he was leaving and needed to show Baz that he wasn't actually leaving. He leaned in towards Baz's lips. Baz, although staring at Simon's lips longingly, panicked with wide eyes and turned his head quickly. The kiss landed on his cheek below his ear, leaving a light pink stain. Baz shuddered, shoulders taught and mouth strained. He slowly reached up and wiped the blood from his face.

"G'night, Basil," Simon muttered, patting his cheek lightly. Although Simon could tell Baz was (suddenly and inexplicably) anxious, Baz smiled tightly and patted Simon's hair in return. Then he turned and walked away under the yellow street lamps.

Simon stumbled into the building, nodding drunkenly at the girl at the front desk before crawling up the empty stairwell.  
His room was freezing cold, dark, and pathetically lonely. He had left the window to his room open hoping to air it out while he was gone, but all it seemed to do was produce frigid air. Now Simon was drunk, cold, and wasn't quite sure how to shut the window. It had some weird old crank, and he was 89% sure he had broken it before. He tried to crank the window shut again, only for the handle to completely come off in his hand. He stared at it for a moment and sighed in defeat, dropping the piece onto the floor. He shut the curtains, rolling his eyes, and stumbled to his cold and lumpy bed. He grabbed blindly for an extra pair of socks from the floor and tucked the blankets around himself, trying to keep warm. The only thing he could think about before falling asleep was the strange bumps above Baz's teeth, and the cold wind blowing the curtains.

——

Simon was absolutely fucked. Not only was he on a trail that leads to nowhere, but he made out with Baz last night, and he really really wanted to do it again. He felt like he was 18 again. 17... more like 16. He's liked Baz for way too long, it was honestly embarrassing.  
He needed to get out of this stupid inn and get some work done. Anything to get his mind off Baz's lips. And Baz's hair. And the bumps in his gums. He really needed to get his mind off of that.

Simon walked to the east side of town again just in case. He dragged his feet and shoved his hands into his pockets, clenching and unclenching them while he thought about all the things he shouldn't be thinking about. His jaw clicked when he worked it back and forth. This didn't mean anything. It meant nothing. He was paranoid because he had no lead. Baz was completely normal.

And then he heard the shouting.

Simon jogged towards the shouts and turned a street corner to find a small gathering of neighbours surrounding a child no older than 10. He was crying and holding a small dog tightly, sitting on the curb while old women stroked his hair and gossiped.

"What seems to be the problem here, ladies?" Simon asked, standing tall and lowering his voice to sound authoritative. Baz would have laughed at him.

"Oh, Mr Snow! Did you hear already? This is most definitely your situation!" One of the ladies said, standing above the child.

"What happened?" He asked, patting himself down discreetly. He only had one weapon on him (just in case) and it was such a small knife it would barely graze a vamp, much less decapitate it.

"Oliver here was taking his dog out for a walk this morning, and three steps onto the trail in the forest he stumbled over a dead deer!" The lady replied, gesticulating with every word. Her voice sounded like knives this early in the morning (more like 11:30) and Simon's hangover from the night before was not helping.

"Where's the deer, ma'am? It could have died of natural causes. I need to know it is the same as the other coyote attacks."

The woman pointed behind him to the forest across the street where he easily saw a path. He hadn't noticed it before, which made him feel like an absolute twat. He was really sucking at his job this week. Simon waved her off and walked towards the path, glaring at the opening. He'd rather write this whole thing off as a hoax and go home, but the Mage would never let that happen.  
Plus if he went home he would have to leave Baz. He didn't want to leave Baz. Not yet.

The woman was right, the deer was only a few steps into the path. For such a careful vampire, this kill was sloppy. The deer was left in the middle of the clearing, neck torn open, body drained and deflated. Unlike the others, this murder was messy, and there was blood and... parts of the deer's throat left all over the path. There was blood and flies and oh god, the smell was horrible. Simon would never get over the smell of a rotting corpse.  
He pulled his shirt over his nose and bent over the animal, locating the teeth marks. It was a vampire kill alright. There were also footsteps leading farther into the forest that Simon followed, drops of blood mixed into the dirt every few feet, but they ducked out onto the road when the path ran close. The trail dropped off from there- no blood, no footprints, no vampire.

Simon retraced his steps back to the deer and began feeling particularly ill- and not because of the smell. The opened deer was of course on the east side of town, near where the other major kills were. Near Baz's house. Was this a framing situation on one of Baz's family members, or was it what Simon was dreading?

Simon's stomach began to flip, causing a great amount of nausea. He paced circles around the bloody, rotting deer like he was performing some sort of sadistic ritual and gripped at his hair. He had been in this town for what- a week? What had he done besides annoy, flirt with, and snog Baz? That was not the purpose of this mission. He was supposed to be killing vampires, not make out with past roommates. This was getting out of hand and Simon was so anxious he thought he might throw up and cause even more of a scene on this quiet forest path.

What do people do when they are this anxious? Simon hadn't felt like this since school when everything stressed him out. He had nothing to stress about in the organization, just keep moving and not get caught. But he was stressed now. He was definitely and terrifyingly stressed. Was this a panic attack? The pacing and shaking hands and the want to punch whoever came near him? Probably.  
When Simon was in school and was having a panic attack he would work out to make it go away- to get rid of the extra nervous energy. He would do sit-ups in his room and piss off Baz, go on runs in the forest or go to the gym and join any game he saw playing. This was probably weird, but it worked for Simon. Well, it worked some of the time.

Simon shook his hands out and then began to jog, and then sprint, and he was out of the path and he was on a road. He kept his eyes on the pavement, counting each time his feet hit the ground, turning any corner he found. 10 minutes later he was so out of breath he felt as if his heart was going to catapult out of his throat. He crouched at the side of the road on the rough gravel and let his head drop between his legs. He held his arms over his head, clutching it so it would stop pounding. He tried to centre his breaths, focus, and not cry because now was not the time. This was just happening because he was overtired and hungover. Nothing else.

A car sped past him, blowing his hair and his shirt, providing a nice breeze to cool him down. Simon took one last deep breath, feeling slightly more under control. He looked around to see where he had managed to lose himself and found the pitch manor gate across the street. Of course.

Simon stomped up the driveway, still panting, and knocked harshly on the door. It would probably bruise his knuckles later, but the pain brought him back to earth. Sort of.

He just couldn't stop thinking about that kiss- multiple kisses- along with everything else. Plus, Baz was pretty level headed, and could probably calm Simon down.

Baz answered the door (thank god) and looked a thousand times better than Simon felt. His eyes were bright, his cheeks rosy. For once he didn't look malnourished. While Simon was hungover and still on the brink of another panic attack, Baz looked as if a night of drinking cured him. Simon wished it was that easy.  
When Baz's eyes focussed on Simon they flashed with fear. Last time Baz had kissed Simon, Simon had stopped talking to him and everything went wrong. Now, Simon was at his door with red eyes, panting and clutching his stomach.

"Come on, Snow," he sighed, turning and walking away from the door. Simon, obviously, followed without question. He was exhausted and upset and he really just needed a hug. He had done nothing for this town, and it had been a week. He needed to get rid of this stress. But he couldn't, because The Mage was going to kill him, and that was if he didn't find out about the snogging as well. Simon was a dead man walking. Walking into another boys room.

Baz's room looked exactly the same as before except with his clothes from the night before strewn across the floor. 

Baz finally turned to face Simon, arms crossed. Simon ignored the look and crawled onto his bed like the pathetic loser he was. He pushed his face into the blanket, breathing in the comforting smell of Baz (which he would never admit) and groaned quietly. When Simon turned his head to look at Baz once more he was tapping his foot with an eyebrow raised.

"What are you doing here, Snow? Come to cut me off again?" He snapped after a staredown. His face was marble, but Simon could tell he was worried that was actually the case.  
Simon sat up on the bed, crisscrossed legs, and furrowed brow. Was he going to leave Baz again? He didn't want to.  
Simon's face scrunched up in pain (too many thoughts) and even though Baz didn't want to, he softened. He knew, in the rational part of his mind, that Simon didn't purposefully brush him aside. He knew what The Mage was like, he knew that Simon was under excruciating expectations at all times. That he couldn't escape The Mage when he was at school, not like how Baz could escape from his father. The Mage was a horrible person and cared more about reputation than Fiona and Malcolm combined.

Simon looked so upset. He had this sort of engrained need to be the golden boy, to be perfect. So Baz caved instantly, soft and so unlike himself. Only Simon would have this hold over him. 

He sunk down onto the bed in front of Simon, who looked him in the eyes and sighed deeply.

"I don't know. I just- I know that... that I wanted that- the kissing- since that day at school.... but I don't know. I can't like that. Why do I like it?" He inhaled deeply, grabbing at his hair, "And it doesn't help that I just can't get this fucking job done. It's been days and I can't figure out where the hell that stupid animal is and I'm way overdue. He's just... he's gonna be pissed when I get back no matter what."  
Simon deflated, tension leaving from the rant and leaving him empty, like a balloon that was let go halfway through being blown up.

Somehow, Baz knew Simon was talking about The Mage without this name being spoken. Without thinking (Simon's the one who doesn't think, not Baz. What was happening to him?) Baz put his hand on Simon's head, running his fingers through his bronze curls. This is what he did when Mordelia was younger to calm her down. Simon exhaled deeply and leaned into it like a cat- Baz's tactic obviously worked.

"You're not..." Baz sighed as well, "You're not actually working for animal control, are you?" He asked quietly. From what he had heard from Simon over the past week, about the expectations and the stress and the constant jobs... it was pretty easy to come to that conclusion. Simon's face, somehow, became even more pained. He groaned and flopped forwards so that his forehead was pressed against Baz's thigh. He twisted so that his cheek was on his thigh and so his hair was still available for petting.

"No."

"Why do you have to hide it?" Baz asked queasily, not liking that his suspicions were correct. He loved being right, but this was particularly unsettling. Why did Simon have to lie? Baz's gums began to ache despite the fact that he had drunk deeply the night before.

"I... I can't tell you," Simon replied, still facing away from Baz.

"And you can't tell me your real job?"

"No, I'm sorry," he said, sitting up once more. He looked very overwhelmed, face red and eyes blown wide. Baz wanted to kiss him better, but he didn't want to scare him away. Baz was a part of the problem, wasn't he? He decided to try and lighten the mood.

"So what, you're in a secret organization? The SIS (UK CIA) or something like that?"

"Kinda? Actually no, not exactly. In a way?" He groaned loudly and covered his face with his hands, "I don't know anymore. We're sent to do a job, and we do it. No questions asked."  
Simon looked at Baz and prayed to something out there that Baz was normal, that Simon's suspicions were due to anxiety.

"Like a contract killer? An assassin?" Baz laughed, trying to make Simon smile at the least.  
It just made Simon look worse, like Baz had punched him. He shook his head fast, like a wet dog, and then dropped it forwards to Baz's shoulder. Simon had no shame.

"I don't know anymore Baz, I seriously don't know. I've been in this for so long, doing whatever The Mage tells me to do. I don't know what I'm doing," Simon expressed.

"Wh- what does The Mage have to do with this?" Baz exclaimed, pushing Simon off of his shoulder to look him in the eyes, "I thought he just got you the job? Oh god, he's not your employer, is he? Simon, he went from our headmaster to your employer? He's a horrible person, you're never going to get away from him-"

"I know. I know, god, I know, Baz."

Simon squeezed the back of his neck and his eyes shut at the same time, clenching his teeth to try and shut out all of these stupid thoughts. He couldn't get the image of Baz as a vampire out of his head. How could he deal with that? Simon had never disobeyed an order, but he also hasn't ever dealt with his friend. It made him think about all of the other creatures he had killed mercilessly, all who could have had friends and family and significant others. How was he supposed to deal with this-

And then Baz pulled him into a hug. Simon's head was on Baz's chest, and he was being held tightly. He only heard a very faint heartbeat, which did not make him feel any better.

Baz didn't understand exactly what was going on, and he couldn't wrap his head around the situation, but he knew Simon was panicking. Whatever this was, it was worrying Baz. A lot.

His suspicions were starting to make more sense. During their eighth year, rumours began that The Mage was going "crazy": Randomly lecturing people on monsters, telling children that sirens, werewolves and vampires were real. Everyone thought he was losing his mind, but Baz's anxiety spiked and he immediately called Fiona in a panic.  
Only his father and Fiona knew about his little problem. It wasn't his fault- being jumped at age 13 while walking home from the sweets shop was no one's fault. He was bitten, and when his aunt was driving around looking for him she found him in the alleyway. Thankfully the vamp didn't kill him, but the teeth marks and the recounting of what happened was enough to thoroughly freak out his aunt and Malcolm. They all ignored the problem until Baz couldn't. Beginning of year 5 he couldn't stop himself. He was going to die if he couldn't drink.  
In year five he could wait weeks without drinking. Now he couldn't wait more than 3 days without passing out. He felt like he was always dying.

Baz chewed his lip in worry but held Simon anyways. There were rumours about what happened to The Mage after he left Watford. (a week before their graduation- real shitty of him to miss Simon's grad.) Rumours that he ran off to join some monster killing organization. That sounded genuinely crazy, even to Baz. But then Simon disappeared too. And Baz hadn't heard from him since.  
Simon didn't say he wasn't a killer. The rumours could be true.

"Baz," Simon finally spoke, sitting up. He was upset, very obviously so, but he was licking his lips and it was distracting. And all Baz could smell was cinnamon buns, smoke and bacon. Simon hadn't changed in three years. Simon was looking at him like Baz was his lifeline, pleading and exhausted. Baz opened his mouth to say something encouraging, but instead, Simon pushed forewords like he was going to kill him. Hungry for something.  
Baz's lips were very suddenly locked with Simon's, and Simon flipped him and pushed him down into the millions of the pillows on the bed. His hands were feather soft against Baz's cheeks as if he were afraid. Baz didn't want him to be afraid.  
Baz reached up and clutched Simon's golden curls. He ignored the major warning signs and issues of this entire situation and kissed Simon Snow- something that would definitely end up killing him.

Baz could feel the tears that clung to Simon's jaw.  
He wiped them smoothly, and trailed his hands over Simon's arms and his chest and then to his shirt hem. He touched Simon's hot stomach with his cold fingers, in a way similar to the night before.  
Simon was jolted back to reality and pulled away as if the cold brought him down to earth. He was straddling Baz and began wiping his eyes furiously.

He had a job to do, and snogging his once roommate was not that. He quickly hopped off the bed and straightened his shirt and flattened his hair, panicking once more. What the fuck was he doing? Maybe Baz had seduction abilities like sirens.

"Fuckin hell, I shouldn't be here! Jesus Christ, what was I bloody thinking? I have a job to do!" He muttered, pacing the room.  
Baz slowly slid off the bed, flustered by the sudden stop of sexual activity, and approached Simon carefully.

"Si, you need to calm down. You are safe right now, alright?" he said slowly, making his way over to Simon. It was as if he didn't hear Baz. He kept pacing and bit down on his fist as if he needed to scream.  
"Simon," Baz reached forewords and touched his shoulder carefully. Simon whipped around to face him, anxious and overwhelmed.

"I- I have to go," he said, eyes wide and frantic. He looked like The Mage.

"You don't have to go anywhere, just stay here the night, we can figure things out later," Baz said, inexplicably soft. He held the back of Simon's neck and tried to pull him into a kiss. Simon dodged it, like year 8 all over again.  
He ducked away from Baz all together and sped walked to his bedroom door. He only stopped when his hand was on the door handle.

"I'll text you later. I'm sorry- I just...I gotta go," he mumbled, and then he was gone, leaving Baz with a familiar sense of déjà vü.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo! all done! enjoy!!


	4. Pet Sematary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter four: The Mage is a dick, Simon panics (again), Simon starts questioning... everything, and oh no! who could have guessed! Baz is a vampire

Simon didn't text Baz after his meltdown. He wanted to- he really wanted to- but he knew that, if he did, he would fall right back into his hands like putty. He still felt horrible about it, of course.  
At this point, Simon had accepted that his feelings from year eight had returned. He knew that, even if he left, the feelings wouldn't go away. That much was obvious after a three-year break, and Simon felt the same- if not having more feelings. He wanted to drive to Baz's house and- well, you know.

It had been a day since his midlife (quarter-life?) crisis. Nothing had come from the distance from Baz. Nothing but stewing over a terrifying suspicion. Simon tried to keep that pushed to the back of his brain. Very, very deep into his brain. They only issue was that every time he thought about Baz (which was constant) he remembered the feeling of teeth pressing on gums. Unnatural bumps in an otherwise perfect mouth. So maybe his "Don't think about Baz being a vampire" tactic wasn't working. In his defence, not thinking about Baz was like trying not to think about a gun pressed to your temple. Impossible.

Simon stood at the perpetually open window (he was too afraid to tell the front desk that he broke the crank) and let the cold air sting his skin. The window broke just to spite him, and he would deal with the consequences. His fists clenched and unclenched in his hoodie's pockets. He had never found a case to be difficult. He had never been working a case and thought "I can't handle this."

Not until now.

His shit phone began to ring, jump-starting him out of a spiral of thoughts. Simon snatched it off of his bedside table without thinking twice, hoping to god it was Baz.  
His hopeful expression folded into a frown when the Mages contact lit up his screen. The Mage never called him when he was on a case. He stared at the Called ID in fear, before slowly clicking on the call. He dragged his phone to his ear.

"Hello?" He asked, gnawing on his lip in anticipation.

"Simon, what on earth have you been up to? You should have been back days ago," the Mage spat, straight to the point. No pleasantries, no "how are you doing, are you alright?" Like a father should. He didn't bother to sound worried in the slightest- just annoyed and impatient. Simon couldn't expect any more than that, he supposed. He knew the Mage by now.

"I've, uh, had a bit of trouble with this case, sir. There's little to no evidence, and no murders," Simon replied, hoping he could lie as well as he held a disguise.

"It's been over a week, Simon!" He shouted. Simon could hear him typing on a computer feverishly.

"It's a difficult case," he tried to explain.

"And you don't have a single lead?" The Mage sounded upset. A knot began to form in Simon's stomach. He tried not to disappoint the Mage, but he never seemed to satisfy him, no matter how many cases he solved. No matter how many monsters he killed. He was never good enough.

"Er..." Simon's attention drifted to Baz, and what he has done with him over the past week. He quickly shook the thoughts away, "no. No leads yet, but I'm working on it."

The phone went silent for a moment, and Simon began to think the Mage had hung up on him. It wouldn't have been the first time. He pulled the phone away from his ear and checked his phone- it was still on the call.

"...sir?"

"Come home."

"Wait- what?" Simon exclaimed, eyes wide. He had never been taken off a case in his three years.

"You're obviously not paying attention. Your heart isn't in it. You've completed a harder case in half of the time," the Mage stated, clicking away at his keyboard. He was going to break the keys if he kept slamming at them like he was, "drive home, I'll send others."

"No! Sir wait, this is my case. Let me handle it," Simon begged, sounding like a child. Feeling helpless, useless. He grew up feeling like this when he was around the Mage, and the emotion never disappeared.

"I'm dispatching others in the morning. Come home," he stated in finality. Simon couldn't force another word in, because the Mage hung up.

Simon was fuelled with more fear than he had felt in months. He couldn't text the Mage- he wouldn't answer. He couldn't beg or whine. When the Mage gave orders, you had to follow them.  
But Simon couldn't go home. He couldn't leave this quiet town- leave Baz- with assassins who asked fewer questions and killed without hesitation. Those who looked for minor proof and shot with their eyes closed. Simon was thorough, and executed with a plan. The others killed without question, and if they got the target wrong, they felt no remorse.

In the back of his mind, Simon knew Baz's family wasn't safe. That Baz wasn't safe. He didn't want to admit his suspicion, he didn't want to know the truth about Baz, but this was being taken out of his hands. All signs led to the Pitch manner, he knew that much. The new assassins would kill the entire family and ignore the consequences.

Simon clutched his phone tightly, mouth pulled taught. He couldn't leave. He needed to warn Baz. He unlocked his phone and opened Baz's contact.

Simon: what are you doing tomorrow?

He sat on his musty bed so that his legs wouldn't give out on him. If Simon thought clearly, without his feelings getting in the way, he knew that Baz was the target from the beginning. He didn't act- couldn't act- because of the relationship they had. He was blinded by his soft sweaters, his gold rimmed glasses and his lips. If Simon was right (and he always was in his line of work), the new assassins would be on him in two days flat. Baz was in danger.

The ellipses of Baz texting and deleting his texts sat on his phone for five whole minutes. It fed the fire of worry in his chest.

Baz: nothing...

Simon exhaled out of his mouth in relief. He could warn him. He had time to collect enough proof that it was Baz and warn him before the assassins got him.

Simon: meet me at the pub tomorrow at 6? I need to talk to you.

Baz: no

...

Baz: yes, fine.

Simon: good, I'll see you then.

—

Simon worried about Baz more than he would like to admit. He stationed himself back at the opened window, watching Main Street like a hawk. Knowing the Mage as well as he did, Simon could tell he was lying. He knew the Mage would have dispatched new assassins as soon as he hung up the phone. Or, more likely, when they were on the phone. Simon could hear him on his computer.

Of course, Simon was right. After an hour and a half of standing at the window, watching and waiting, a new car cruised onto the street. Simon recognized the license plate immediately, and the two middle-aged men sitting in the front seat. They had skeptical and beady eyes.  
Simon was the only one who worked alone. Simon may have been one of the best assassins in the organization, but these two men were known for being cutthroat. Apathetic, senseless murderers.

Simon eyed the car as it slinked past. It didn't turn into the inn as Simon had. It kept heading east. He had less time than he had previously calculated.  
Simon grabbed his coat and hat off the floor and raced out of his room. He had to follow them.

Simon followed behind the car carefully, head down and the cap of his hat hiding his face. They were barely moving 20km per hour, idling through the village. It was easy to keep up with them.  
He tried to seem like a local, earbuds in, face down, hands in pockets- as if he were walking home from the pub. If the men caught him, they could report him to the Mage for disobeying orders and interfering with their new case. Simon knew the danger of him tailing them. He didn't care. Baz's life was on the line.

Simon followed the car, keeping out of sight and unnoticed. They stopped in the neighbourhood that had the most sightings- the neighbourhood that Simon had started at on his first day. No one could tell Simon he was unqualified to work on his own.

Simon had started in that neighbourhood over a week ago, nearly a week and a half. It was nearly six o'clock, and children and parents alike were still in their front yards milling around. Children sat on sidewalks with chalk, parents gardened and played with their children, and the old widows sat on lawn chairs after their early dinner.

The two men parked at the side of the road and hopped out of the car smoothly, placing sunglasses on despite the fact that it was overcast and dull.

From afar, he watched them walk up to a family on their driveway. Although Simon couldn't hear them from this far away, he knew they were asking the same questions Simon had been on his first day. The routine "have you seen..." and "where have you seen...".  
If the families asked what had happened to Simon, the nice young man who had been from animal control services searching out this same case, the men would tell them that Simon was not cut out for the case. That he couldn't do the job alone and had been replaced- all to avoid confusion. Simon had explained the same scene to a town before he himself took over a case.

The men talked to everyone out on their lawns, talking and explaining the same story over and over. Before Simon could even blink, they were sliding back into their car and driving east. Towards the Pitch manor.

Simon swore to himself. They had caught on as fast as Simon had. As soon as they saw the mansion they would have the same suspicion Simon had. They would know, they just wouldn't be thrown off by Baz's easy smile like Simon had been.

He followed the car as carefully as he could on foot. When the car inched closer to the Manors gates, windows down, Simon plunged into the forest. He couldn't be found following them.  
Thankfully, Simon had a good sense of direction, plus he had been in these woods before. He was worried that the assassins (did that make Simon an assassin too?) would go to the house on the first day.   
Hopefully, they would take the time of day into consideration and wait until tomorrow to interrogate the Grimm-Pitches. Simon couldn't take the chance.

He tried to navigate through the quickly darkening forest. Branches scratched at his arms, cheeks, and exposed ankles as he pushed through. It would be best for him to find a place he could watch the front door from. Or the back kitchen door if the men decided to infiltrate and kill without any real proof. Any way for Simon to have a clear route to stop them.

As he pushed through the trees and bush, Simon started to realize the depth of this situation. He was ignoring orders, and he may be aiding the enemy. That alone was enough to have him banished from the organization. If they found out he was not only helping the enemy but snogging him, he was a dead man. They would execute him.  
This was a case-turned-suicide mission. If Simon saved the Grimm-Pitch family from his coworkers, he was done for.  
Either way, it was worth it. Worth it for Baz to keep living. For Mordelia to keep growing. For the children to survive. For Baz's always welcoming stepmother to live without the loss of a child. For Malcolm to not lose his oldest son.

From an opening in foliage, Simon saw that the driveway was empty. Hopefully, the assassins called it a day, but if they were going to sit outside the house all night, Simon would sit in the forest and wait. He would not take any chances. Baz's life was at risk.

The trek up through the forest was slow and painful. It was difficult to stay quiet with old leaves and sticks scattered at his feet. The mud was still wet from the rain, sticking to his shoes and pants as he forced himself forwards. He was prepared for anything, a knife tucked in his waistband. If he needed to fight them, he would. He would throw it all away.

Maybe that was an issue. Simon ignored it.

Simon assumed he was getting closer to the house. He had been walking for nearly ten minutes, which was how long it took for him to walk up the drive a week ago... he pushed forwards nonetheless until he heard a crack of a stick snapping in front of him.

He ducked down on instinct, eyes wide and ears trained. A soft curse sounded ahead of him. Someone was there. Simon kept low to the ground, feeling around his waist for his knife. There was a reason he wore baggy cargo pants and jeans- they concealed his weapons. He had waist, arm and thigh sheaths for any occasion. Albeit, he only had his waist sheath today. Only one weapon.  
He crept forwards slowly, careful to avoid the mess of leaves, pinecones and sticks scattered below him. He peered through the bush in front of him but saw nothing.

Was Simon paranoid and hearing things? It would make sense, with how hard his heart was beating and the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He scooted to the left, where the large bush thinned. He barely moved two inches before another sound startled him. Not paranoia. He heard another quiet curse and the squeak of an animal.  
Bad signs. Very bad signs. Especially bad signs beside Baz's house. Everything about this was bad.

Simon halted, placing one hand in between his legs to steady his squat and used the other to draw his combat knife- a modern bowie. It was so sharp, just placing your hand on it wrong would cut you. Simon hated dull weapons.  
The silver knife glinted in the dark. Simon excelled at hand to hand combat. If the person in front of him wasn't Baz, he could take them. He hoped to god it wasn't Baz.

He leaned forwards on his toes, using one hand for balance. He caught a flash of movement but had no clear view of what was in front of him. He needed to be closer.  
Simon mouthed a curse at the inconvenience and inched further to the left, where the bush thinned and shortened. He wasn't sure how close the vampire was. If it was the vampire, that is. He had to make sure he wasn't seen.  
Eventually, he found a small clearing through the wiry branches and leaves, just large enough for him to see through. Simon held his breath and squinted his eyes.

Ten feet away from him, was Baz. Simon squeezed his eyes shut and bit back a million curse words. They threatened to leave his lips as he panicked. Taking a deep breath, he carefully looked once more. Maybe Baz was just... exploring the forest. Going on an after-dinner stroll in the woods. He was weird enough, it was possible.  
Simon watched him squat, just like Simon was not so far away. He shifted so that Simon could see his side profile and his hands.

Simon wished he never turned. His pupils were blown, completely pushing his irises out, and wide. His eyebrows were furrowed, and his mouth...

The mouth Simon had kissed the day before was full. Full of huge, razor-sharp teeth. They had appeared out of nowhere. Yesterday he had a perfect set of dentist-approved teeth, and now the devil-like fangs took up all of that space. As if there wasn't enough space for them.  
If that wasn't bad enough, Baz was holding a good-sized rabbit. It struggled and kicked in Baz's grasp, whining as Baz pressed its windpipe.

When it made another sound, Baz shuddered violently. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face over his shoulder, before snapping the rabbit's neck with a sickening crack. It echoed through the trees and sent birds flying out of the branches in panic.

Baz looked back at the dead animal and grimaced,

"Bloody hell," he murmured, slurred, "I'm sorry, little guy."

Simon almost thought he sounded pained, but it was hard to tell. Baz seemed to have a lisp from the extra teeth in his mouth. You would think a vampire would learn how to speak around them.

Simon couldn't help but think it was slightly... mesmerizing. Baz's hair falling around his face, the sharp teeth, his face pulled into a mortified frown. Like he knew what he was doing was wrong, unnatural...

Maybe Simon was sick in the head.

He watched Baz as he looked left and right. And then glanced sickeningly at the limp rabbit in his hands. He had to have been incredibly fast to catch and kill the animal with such ease.  
What was Simon thinking? Of course it was fucking easy for Baz to catch the rabbit, he was a vampire.  
Simon knew the speed and strength of vampires first hand. He had fought hundreds of vampires in the past three years. Packs of them, lone ones. Once an entire bar full of them. He just flicked a match and... whoosh.  
And Baz was a vampire. Oh god.

Simon shoved his prized knife back in its place, feeling sick to his stomach. It twisted and turned and knotted in the most uncomfortable way possible. Why had he even pulled the knife out in the first place? He knew it was going to be Baz. He knew from the beginning. Simon was never wrong when it came to a case.

When Simon looked back up, Baz had already sunk his teeth into the rabbit's neck, eyes squeezed shut.

Simon turned away. He couldn't watch. He felt like he was going to be sick. Being found by Baz would not be good. Especially if he was found in a puddle of his own stress-induced vomit. Especially when he was spying on Baz.

As soon as Baz left (after burying the rabbit- what kinda vampire cares that much?) Simon ran back. Sprinted all the way to the Inn. He heaved his way up the stairs, completely out of breath, tearing up, and shaking.

Once he was in his room, he slammed and locked the door, and threw himself into the bathroom. Only then did he let the anxiety completely overtake him, and he puked.

Simon hated throwing up. It reminded him of when he was younger. If he got the flu, the Mage would ignore him and lock him in his room with a bowl. He told Simon that if he got his illness, there would be consequences. So Simon, a child, was left to deal with the rib cramps, fever, and cold sweats for days until it passed.

When he was sure he was done, he flushed the toilet and pulled himself up, using the sink for balance. He splashed his face with cold water and avoided his reflection.

He was still shaking as he walked back into his shitty room, wiping his face on his shirt.

"Fuck!" He shouted, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He shucked off his jacket and ripped the knife from his waist. With an angry shout, he stabbed it into the old bedside table. It dug so deep into the wood, the knife stuck up on its own.

Simon couldn't wrap his head around the situation. Even though he knew the whole time.  
Baz, his roommate of 8 years, friend and maybe-more-than-friend, was a vampire. And Simon had proof. Eye witness proof.

Simon groaned and dropped backwards onto his lumpy bed. Facing the ceiling, he covered his face with his hands. Of course Baz was a vampire. Of fucking course.  
No wonder Baz was always pale and cold. No wonder he looked like he was malnourished- he barely even drank! When did drink, it was only small animals! He was starving himself.  
The vampires Simon normally killed were killing and drinking from humans daily. They looked like any other person- full of blood, warm, lively. They were powerful, strong, and constantly on the prowl.

Baz looked like he was on the verge of death compared to most of the vampires Simon had met. Baz was sacrificing his health and well being so that he wouldn't kill humans... he wasn't a monster.  
Baz wasn't a monster or a villain. He was just a boy.

A boy, yes, but also a vampire. A vampire that Simon had kissed. Multiple times. He had kissed a vampire. A boy vampire.  
What would the Mage think?

Well, he would probably think that Simon was turned from Baz's saliva and stake him. And then set him on fire. If he didn't assume that, he would probably kill Simon anyway. In the Mages mind, snogging a vampire was the equivalent of snogging the devil himself. And kissing a boy was the equivalent of kissing a vampire- you know where Simon was taking this. It was bad. He was in a very bad situation.

If the other assassins found Baz out, they would kill him in an instant. The thought of that made Simon's intestines unravel.

Simon may have been confused and full of anxiety, but he was sure of one thing. He couldn't let those men get to the Grimm-Pitch family. He couldn't let Baz die.

He was too invested. He cared too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man I really gotta finish this fic now that I have posted it on here... Leave Kudos and comments! if you want hehe


	5. Territorial Pissings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter five; stalking vs stakeout, Simon really should have gotten more sleep, assassins aren't as smooth as they think, explanations, and rich people cars

Simon barely slept that night. He should have sucked it up and slept in the forest where he had a view of Baz's house. Worry gnawed at his bones until 3 in the morning, until teeth grinding and knife twirling tired him out, and he eventually collapsed on top of his musty bed, not bothering to climb under the blankets.  
The frigid morning air helped him wake back up at 6 a.m. anyway. Simon still couldn't work up the guts to tell the nice lady at the front desk that he broke the window and he didn't really have the money to pay for it. Surprisingly, a secret organization that revolves around the murder of mythical creatures doesn't drag in a lot of cash. Simon only had enough for gas, food, and paying rent for his tiny apartment near headquarters.

Simon woke with the sun, shivering and instantly filled with adrenaline and fear because oh god, the boy I might love could be killed any second for no good reason. He quickly washed up in the bathroom, threw on fresh clothes, and began to clip his waist and arm sheath on. Simon was bringing multiple weapons today and for once they weren't intended for anyone not-human. 

Simon needed to be awake and he needed to be ready for anything. After making sure everything was secure, Simon shrugged on a cheap, baggy zip-up hoodie to conceal the weapons, slipped his cap over his hair, and left the small room.

He manoeuvred silently through the inn, familiar enough with the stairs that he knew which floorboards creaked under a certain amount of pressure, and slipped out the front door into the early dawn.

Simon welcomed the cold slap of air across his cheek, waking him like a shot of espresso injected directly into his veins. The sky was baby blue, the sun hidden by the horizon. Rays of light fanned out, interrupting the solid colour, and melting the near-frost on the grass. It was early summer (if you were an optimist) and yet the mornings were still freezing.

A layer of mist hung heavy in the air as Simon snuck down the alleyway to the parking lot behind the inn. As nonchalantly as possible, he scanned the lot and found the other assassin's car parked a few spots from Simon's.  
Simon's breath of relief materialized in front of him in a puff of mist. They weren't awake yet, waiting until the town was alive so they could question some more old people and then investigate Baz's house. Investigate Baz. And realize he is the target. And then try to-

No. Nope. Present moment. Do not think ahead.

Simon spun on the spot, deciding it was safer to walk to the Grimm-Pitch manor. If the assassins hadn't recognized Simon's car yet, they might pay attention if it was parked near Baz's house. Or in his driveway. Yeah, walking was the best bet.

It seemed the whole town was still asleep: No cars cruised through the streets, no children cackled on the monkey bars of the town park, no parents gardened, and no old ladies sat out on their lawn in lawn chairs like they were at the beach and not in the middle of New Hampshire.  
Nonetheless, Simon kept his head down, shoved his hands deep in his pockets, and walked the now-habitual path to Baz's house. He didn't want to risk being recognized by any of the people he had met and spoken to on several occasions. They all knew him by name at this point; if they caught sight of him and yelled "oi! Simon!", and the two assassins from the organization found him... well. If word got back to The Mage that he was blatantly disobeying orders, there would be... undesirable consequences waiting for him back home.

By the time Simon got to the long, empty road that held the manor, he had a crick in his neck from staring at the pavement for so long. He rolled his shoulders and squeezed his muscles. He would most likely be spending his entire day squatting in bushes and trees; this would be the last time for hours that he'd be allowed to stretch. Technically he's been in worse spots. Once he had to hide in a werewolf's closet for 8 hours. It was unpleasant and ironic.

When he finally arrived at the bottom of the drive, he cut into the forest. Simon wasn't going to blow his cover by walking up the driveway because it would be easier on him.  
Simon took the same route as before, treading carefully rather than stomping carelessly like the day before when he thought the assassins were going to strike early. He avoided a plethora of scratches that way.

After 15 minutes, Simon had made it to the manor and found cover nearly parallel to the front door. That way, when the assassins showed up (and Simon knew that they would) he would have the perfect view. Thankfully, the forest had crept dangerously close to the manor, so the bramble he hid behind was close enough for Simon to (hopefully) hear voices if there was a conversation held at the front door. Simon hoped to god that Baz wouldn't recklessly invite the assassins inside as he had invited him. That might speed up a process that Simon was doing everything he could to halt.

Simon needed to get comfortable. He would likely sit in the same spot for the next 9 hours. He had his fully charged phone, a flask of water, 3 power bars, and 4 weapons with him. He was prepared for the stakeout.  
He patted himself down, double-checking that his knives were in place. His dagger was strapped to his arm, his machete and modern bowie on his waist, and his switchblade down the side of his boot, just in case. Simon didn't care for guns, although they probably would have been good in this case. Guns were loud, unpredictable, and barely killed any creatures. Knives and swords on the other hand, well, Simon had full control over those and they couldn't let you down unless you made a mistake yourself. Simon was better at hand to hand combat anyways, and if he really needed something long-distance he could just throw one of his knives. He was trained in knife throwing too.  
Sure, he had a gun with silver bullets for werewolves, but it was back home. Plus, if he had to jump in here, Simon couldn't shoot from this far away, especially if Baz or one of Baz's family members were standing too close. If he accidentally hit them... Simon wouldn't be able to forgive himself. Simon was risking everything so that he could save Baz, and he had to be as safe as possible.

—

Simon sat on the forest floor all day. He was running on 3 hours of sleep, two power bars and a few sips of water. His body was on autopilot. The aches in his lower spine and shoulders faded in his mind as he stared at Baz's front door.

Unsurprisingly, the Grimm-Pitches didn't get out much. Simon watched the house from 6:00 until 1:00 (according to his phone) and the front door did not open once. Simon, after staring at the silent mansion for so long, was excited when he finally heard young voices filter from the backyard. They lasted 10 minutes before vanishing again.

It was summer for fucks sake, and there were 4 children in that house that were (assumedly) not vampires; how on earth did children spend their summer inside? The day, while it started chilly and dreadful, was now delightful. Sun filtered through the leaved beaches above Simon's head, and a cool breeze interrupted the heat. The sky was cloudless. Any other family in this town would be having a picnic on their front lawns and kiddy pools set up for splashing. Sprinklers would be set up for dogs and children alike to run through. Simon could almost imagine the happy laughter and shrieks from his lonely seat in an abandoned forest.  
Baz's family didn't really match the town's atmosphere: quiet and homey. If anything, the family screamed "WE ARE THE ONES HARBOURING A VAMPIRE!", placing Baz on display for all to see.

Simon had nothing but time, sitting on moss and leaves in his old roommate's forest, stalking said roommate. He couldn't help but think about the past 3 years of his life. About every vampire he had murdered that was the same as Baz. About the families he had broken up, about the significant others he had stolen, a best friend killed.  
How was it that Simon only realized it was wrong when he was directly involved? After everything he had done? How could he ever forgive himself?

Penny was right. She always was. Simon knew from the beginning that she was. The organization was committing mass genocide. Simon was nothing more than a glorified serial killer who was deemed a hero.  
Penny was right. The organization was a cult. What right did Simon have getting involved in others' lives? Who gave him permission? He wasn't the law, and neither was the Mage.

—

Thankfully, Simon's boredom was interrupted at 2:00. Unfortunately, it was the men from the organization.  
Simon had been lounging on the ground, head tilted back, staring at the dots of blue sky through the canopy of tree branches above him and dragging his dagger lazily through the dirt. Apparently, Baz's boring as all hell family provided for good spying, as Simon could hear the assassin's car long before it came into view. Simon lifted himself into a squat, making sure he was covered by the brush in front of him. He placed one hand in between his legs to keep him steady and clutched his dagger tightly. If the investigators decided to infiltrate the manor based on rumours alone, would Simon be able to stop them in time? Could he make it to the front door before they killed anyone?

The organization's car pulled up the driveway slowly. Simon watched both men through the side window as they peered up at the massive house, probably thinking, "this definitely seems like somewhere a vampire would live", like Simon had because honestly, the house was one huge stereotype. Simon would have to tell Baz that, once they were out of this mess. If they got out of this mess.

Fortunately, the men decided to be civil, walking up to the door and knocking politely, rather than busting through a window and wreaking havoc. They even used the unnecessary door-knocker, which was more than Simon had ever done. The knocker was stupid, although, so was a door so thick that when you knocked on it, it bruised your knuckles... no one wins.

Simon leaned forwards as much as he dared, peering through the branches of the bush. The two men had taken a step back, conversing quietly and looking around the property. Simon stopped breathing when the man closest to him looked his way, but after a moment his eyes travelled back to the manor. Simon exhaled in relief.

A few moments later, the door swung open. Baz must have thought Simon was the one at the door because he had his trademark smirk on his lips and a sparkle in his eye. As soon as he caught sight of the two men, the smirk was replaced with a blank stare.  
Simon hoped to god the men weren't hiding weapons in their belts. If one of them had a gun in their waistband, Baz would be on the ground in an instant and there would be nothing Simon could do.

Baz looked the men up and down, nose slightly turned up like he was judging the brand of their ironed shirts. When Simon was working on a case, he stuck to his disguise. What animal control workers are clean-shaven with dark shades and clean leather shoes? At least they weren't wearing full piece suits.  
Simon wondered if Baz could sense something was wrong. That these two men were dangerous, and that he had to be careful about what he told them. Albeit, Simon was in that position a week before, and Baz had invited him in and let him use his shower... not so promising.

Simon, thankfully, was close enough to the house that the three monotone voices were audible. 

"Hello?" Baz asked stiffly, shifting back half a step. Simon noticed that he was wearing those gold-rimmed glasses again, framing his wary eyes. He tried to ignore the way his heart squeezed with appreciation. Baz was truly-

"Good afternoon," one of the men said gruffly, "is this the Grimm residence?"

"Yes? Who are you? We don't buy girl guide cookies." Baz seemed pissed off. Simon wondered if Baz was upset because it wasn't Simon on his front step. He had a hand on the door like he was waiting for a reason to slam it in their faces.

"We're with animal control, for the recent animal deaths around town- coyotes, we assume," the man closest to Simon explained, not thrown off in the slightest by Baz's girl guide jab. "Some neighbours believe they live in this side of town, perhaps on your property, within the forest?"

Baz narrowed his eyes skeptically. Well, Simon had given him the same talk a week earlier, and then had a mental breakdown about how he wasn't actually animal control a few days after that so... it wasn't that hard to tell that something was wrong. Plus, Baz was scarily smart and calculated. If anyone could put the pieces together, it was him.

"There are no coyotes in our forest, we had it checked two months ago when someone first complained. It must be farther east," he replied, making intense eye contact, challenging them.

"Apologies, sir. Is there any chance you've seen anything around the other parts of town?" The other man asked, already sounding suspicious. This was not good. Baz was too defensive, his posture was too straight; it was going to give him away. No one normal would be wary of animal control.

"No, not recently. It seems to have died down, at least from what I've seen," He frowned, looking the men up and down again.  
At that moment, Simon's foot cramped, and he had to shift carefully. The movement was enough to catch Baz's attention (Simon knew those glasses were for show) and they made eye contact. Simon didn't know if the panic was showing on his face, or if Baz had really good intuition, but Baz immediately looked back at the men, schooling his face into something relaxed and relatively normal.

"Is that all? You could always search my backyard again, but someone came by last week as well, and they found nothing," he forced a smile, dropping his shoulders. Simon could tell Baz was trying his best not to look over at him.

"No, that's alright, thank you for your time," the man closest to Simon said, nodding at Baz politely.

"It's alright, have a good day," Baz waved them off.

They may have seemed satisfied with Baz's words, but Simon saw the look they gave each other as they strolled back to their car. Simon saw the glint of a knife in one of the men's waistband as he opened the driver's side door.  
They found their vampire. Who knew how long it would be until they struck.

In retrospect, Simon would have found Baz just as easily if it wasn't Baz. Simon was blinded by his feelings, by how he cared about Baz. All the clues were there.

Simon knew what they would do next. The men would watch the manor for the rest of the day, stalking Baz's movements, and if anyone in the family did anything suspicious, anything to suggest they were not human, they would attack. Simon couldn't leave. He needed to make sure the Grimm's stayed inside, and not let Baz do anything without Simon next to him- which would be difficult, considering Simon couldn't be seen mingling with Baz.

Baz watched the men get in their car and back out of the driveway. When they were out of Simon's line of sight, Baz looked back at Simon, catching his eyes. He eyed the car one more time and then shut the comically large door.

Less than 30 seconds later, Simon's phone buzzed against his thigh.

Baz: would you like to explain why you're hiding in my bushes like a pervert?

In any other situation, the words would have been funny. Unfortunately, this was serious.

Simon: don't leave your house, you're the target. Meet me at the pub at 6. Drive don't walk.

Simon always had a way with words. He didn't want to explain any of this over text. It was the sort of situation you had to talk about in person. Plus, for all Simon knew, The Mage could have his phone tapped.  
It was easier to be brief. Baz was straightforward, he would probably appreciate it.

Baz: I never walk anywhere moron

—

Simon didn't leave his post until 5:30, half an hour before he was supposed to meet Baz. He didn't want Baz to show up at the pub before him and run into the men, but he didn't want to be away from Baz for too long. Technically, if they tried to block him on his way there, Baz could just hit them with his car...

Simon stuck to the forest, just in case they were outside Baz's driveway until he was in one of the neighbourhoods. He jogged back to the Knights Inn, sprinted up the stairs and quickly changed out of his stake-out clothes. He kept his modern Bowie strapped to his waist under his shirt, just in case, and flattened his hair with the baseball cap once more before running down to the pub.

Simon grabbed the booth at the very back of the pub, as far away from the door as possible, and kept his head low as he waited for Baz

For the first time since Simon came to this town, Baz didn't show up late. He nearly waltzed into the pub, back straight and head raised, but when he looked around, Simon saw that his bottom lip was pulled in between his teeth, biting it nervously.   
He caught Simon's eye and moved briskly over to him as if nothing was wrong.

By the time Baz took his seat across from Simon, the worry had left his features and he had pursed his lips. Simon opened his mouth to explain everything, but Baz beat him to it.

"So the rumours were true," he stated calmly. Simon's mouth snapped shut. What kind of question was that? Simon tells Baz he is a target, and Baz doesn't even seem to care.

"I- uh. The wha- what rumours?" He stumbled, sitting back in his seat. Baz had the audacity to roll his eyes like Simon was the stupidest person alive.

"When The Mage went crazy? Lecturing all the kids about monsters at school before he vanished? Everyone said he flew off the wall and joined a gang that killed "monsters". I assume he actually did, and when you graduated he dragged you into it," Baz quirked his eyebrow, crossing his arms.

"What- did you just guess all of that?" Simon asked incredulously. Baz kept a straight face, picking dirt out of his fingernails. Actually, Simon thought it could have been dried blood, but he tried his best not to think about it. It was still Baz.

"Well it wasn't very hard," Baz finally looked up, eyebrows raised, "after you showed up at my house two days ago and had a breakdown. And then the men at my door and you... hiding in my bushes. That kinda helped," he stared down his nose at Simon. Simon noticed that his glasses from earlier were gone, and his hair was half pulled up into a bun. He looked... soft. But that wasn't important.

Simon flushed and rubbed the back of his neck. Baz had basically guessed it all, so there was no point in beating around the bush.

"Yeah, uh, I guess the rumours were true. I was pulled into the organization as soon as he picked me up from grad, didn't even get to go to the dance..." Simon muttered bitterly. Baz's eyes seemed to soften.  
"At first I thought it was crazy. Then it turned out he wasn't, but, uh, homicidal. I had to do everything he told me, no questions asked, and after I figured out that monsters-" Baz flinched, eyes hardening again, "er, sorry. Once I realized that everything was real, I thought I was doing the right thing."

"And then you got a vampire case in my town," Baz stated bluntly. Simon looked up in surprise. Baz was staring intensely, waiting for Simon to freak out.  
Baz wasn't a murderer. He killed bunnies to survive, just like how humans ate cows and pigs. Simon wasn't a vegetarian, who was he to judge?

How many vampires had he killed that were like Baz? A million apologies bubbled up in Simon's throat like bile.

"I'm sorry Baz, oh my god, I'm so sorry," Simon's hand flew up to grip his hair, but his cap was in the way, "I just thought I was helping but I wasn't. Oh, Jesus, I've probably ruined so many lives because I did whatever The Mage told me to. But then I saw you and I think I knew it was you right away, but I couldn't act on it because," Simon took a harsh breath, looking down at the table, "because you're you. And I've liked you forever... and- and how could I ever hurt you? So I ignored the clues and then The Mage called me home because the others were coming to pick up the case and I knew they'd find you and kill you and I couldn't have that happen and-"

"Simon! Simon, calm down. I understand. It's not your fault," Baz uncrossed his arms and took one of Simon's hands, "I can take care of myself, I understand if you have to leave."

"Leave?" Simon exclaimed, basically shouting, earning a glance from the bartender, "no, no, no. That's not what I'm saying, Baz. These guys- they'll kill you and your family. I can't let that happen. I'm staying here to keep you safe, and if I have to, I'll get rid of them. I don't care what it takes- I need to get out of the organization one way or the other. I just... I need to know you're safe."

Baz stared at him like he was speaking gibberish, mouth dropped open.

"Simon."

"Yeah?"

"I want to kiss you very badly right now," Baz said, eloquent as ever. Simon choked on a cough, looking around the pub to make sure no one heard.

"Erm. Uh. Maybe I could, um. Come stay at yours tonight? To make sure nothing happens..."

"Good idea," Baz nodded seriously.

Simon rose to leave, but Baz grabbed his hand and yanked him back down.

"What? What's wrong?" Simon asked, looking around anxiously. Had the assassins shown up? Simon looked back at Baz, who was chewing on his lip again.

"How... How did you figure me out? I've always been so careful?" Baz asked quietly. He looked worried like he hadn't been as careful as he thought he had been.

"Baz, you're forgetting this has been my job for three years, I know the signs. It doesn't help that I spent the whole week with you. I mean, it threw me off that you smoke, cause y'know, flammable, but you're pale, cold, you barely eat-"

"I still need food to survive, you absolute numpty, my fangs just pop when I eat. I eat in my room away from my family," Baz interrupted, rolling his eyes.

"O-oh," Simon blanched in surprise. He didn't know that. "Whoops. Wait- if your family doesn't know then how do you explain it to them? Wait- wait! If your family aren't also vampires then you must have been bitten? Oh Jesus, Baz, what happened?"

Baz looked out of breath by the number of questions Simon had thrown at him.

"I'm never telling you to use your words ever again," he muttered, smiling and shaking his head, "first of all, my dad and Fiona know. They, uh, found me, when it happened," Baz took a deep breath. He didn't talk about it. Ever. But Simon was staring at him openly, and he couldn't stop, "I was bitten the summer before third year, just around the corner from here, walking home from the sweets shop."

"Oh, so that's why you don't walk anywh-"

"Obviously, you imbecile!" Baz snapped, before settling and muttering a quiet sorry. He wasn't the best at being vulnerable. He sighed before continuing, "It was late, and I needed to get home, so I took a shortcut down an alley and was jumped. Fiona found me there, passed out, three hours later. She thought I was dead."

"Jesus..."

"Yeah. And I guess it was pretty bad, I don't really remember. After I told them what happened, paired with the bites on my neck... well they could just take me to a hospital, could they? And then I was super sick, obviously, for like three weeks, and I could barely get out of bed," Baz tugged on a piece of hair, frowning at their connected hands, "when I didn't, you know, notice any changes, we thought it was a weird fluke. Like I had gotten colder and stuff, but I didn't crave... you know. But then in year five... I, um. I couldn't ignore it anymore."

Simon stared in awe before snapping his fingers excitedly, "Which is when you started getting sad and pale and stuff!"

"Yes, Snow. 'Sad and pale and stuff', thanks for summing it up," Baz deadpanned with a half-hearted glare.

"Er, sorry," Simon blushed, "it's just, I don't actually know much about what I usually hunt? Just what I've been taught. Obviously, you didn't choose this."

"Obviously," Baz responded dryly, but the side of his mouth twitched.

"Do you still want to kiss me?" Simon asked boldly, looking in his eyes again.

"...Unfortunately."

"Oh, good. Thought I might have scared you off there," Simon smiled, squeezing Baz's hand. Baz rolled his eyes, but he was properly smiling now like he couldn't help himself.

"You're an idiot," He laughed, standing up and tugging Simon with him.

"I can't be that stupid, I figured you out," Simon frowned, dropping Baz's hand but bumping his shoulder as they walked towards the door.

"You know, that isn't really something I want to think about right now," Baz gave him a side-eyed look.

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

"I'm kidding, Snow," he chuckled, opening the door for the both of them. The sky was getting dark, no longer golden from the sunset.

"You know, you've called me Simon, like, multiple times," Simon bumped him again as they walked toward Baz's car, parked across the street. The sidewalks were empty now, and the town was winding down. The close-knit buildings cast black shadows across the street.

"Right, Simon," Baz cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable as he tucked his hands into his pockets, "you know, it doesn't sound right unless it's a high stress or emotional situation, I'm sticking to Snow."

"That's ridiculous," Simon laughed, walking around the Mercedes (rich person car) to the passenger side, waiting for Baz to fish his car keys out of his pocket, "it's just my name."

Baz laughed, looking down and patting his back pockets down for his keys, "but it's got history, you know?"  
He finally found his keys and held them up triumphantly, but as soon as he looked at Simon, his eyes widened,  
"Simon! Behind you!"

Simon didn't have time to turn before the world went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second last chapter!! I hope you guys are liking it!

**Author's Note:**

> hello! I have been working on this fic since the summer and have been working myself up to posting it on AO3. I love it with all my heart and hope you guys do too!!
> 
> also, each chapter name is the title of a song... if you wanted to listen along lol
> 
> thanks for checking it out!


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